3 A 


■M 


James  M.  Goode 


Washington,  D.C. 


SIX  LECTURES 
ON  ARCHITECTURE 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CHICAGO  PRESS 
CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 

Bgents 

THE  BAKER  & TAYLOR  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 

THE  CUNNINGHAM,  CURTISS  & WELCH  COMPANY 

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THE  CAMBRIDGE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON  AND  EDINBURGH 

THE  MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA 

TOKYO,  OSAKA,  KYOTO,  FUKUOKA,  SENDAI 

THE  MISSION  BOOK  COMPANY 

SHANGHAI 

KARL  W.  HIERSEMANN 

LEIPZIG 


SIX  LECTURES 
ON  ARCHITECTURE 


BY 

RALPH  ADAMS  CRAM 
THOMAS  HASTINGS 
CLAUDE  BRAGDON 


THE  SCAMMON  LECTURES  FOR  1915 
PUBLISHED  FOR  THE  ART  INSTITUTE 
OF  CHICAGO  BY  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 
CHICAGO  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILLINOIS 


Copyright  1917  By 
The  University  of  Chicago 


All  Rights  Reserved 


Published  January  1917 


Composed  and  Printed  By 
The  University  of  Chicago  Press 
Chicago,  Illinois,  U.S.A. 


NOTE 


HnHE  lectures  presented  in  this  volume  com- 
prise  the  eleventh  series  delivered  at  the 
Art  Institute  of  Chicago  on  the  Scammon  foun- 
dation. The  Scammon  Lectureship  is  established 
on  an  ample  basis  by  the  bequest  of  Mrs . Maria 
Sheldon  Scammon , who  died  in  ipoi.  The  will 
prescribes  that  these  lectures  shall  be  upon  the 
history , theory , and  practice  of  the  fine  arts 
( meaning  thereby  the  graphic  and  plastic  arts )> 
by  persons  of  distinction  or  authority  on  the 
subject  on  which  they  lecture , such  lectures  to 
be  primarily  for  the  benefit  of  the  students  of 
the  Art  Institute , and  secondarily  for  members 
and  other  persons . The  lectures  are  known  as 
“ The  Scammon  Lectures  ” 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/sixlecturesonarc00cram_0 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Lecture  I.  The  Beginnings  of  Gothic 

Art  .3 

Lecture  II.  The  Culmination  of 

Gothic  Architecture  . . .33 

By  RALPH  ADAMS  CRAM 

Lecture  III.  Principles  of  Architec- 
tural Composition  . . . .67 

Lecture  IV.  Modern  Architecture  . 98 

By  THOMAS  HASTINGS 

Lecture  V.  Organic  Architecture  . 123 
Lecture  VI.  The  Language  of  Form  . 145 


By  CLAUDE  BRAGDON 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

[The  illustrations  face  the  pages  designated  unless  otherwise  indicated.] 

LECTURE  I 

PAGE 

Sant*  Ambrogio 8 

Durham  Cathedral — West  Front 14 

Abbaye  aux  Dames,  Caen — Interior  ....  20 

Ely  Cathedral — West  Front 26 

Vezelay  Cathedral — West  Doors 30 

LECTURE  II 

Chartres  Cathedral — Interior 36 

Bourges  Cathedral — Nave 40 

Rheims  Cathedral — West  Front 44 

Notre  Dame,  Paris 48 

Laon  Cathedral — West  Front 52 

Beauvais  Cathedral — South  Transept  . . . *56 

Lincoln  Cathedral — East  End 60 

LECTURE  III 

Giralda  Tower  and  Cathedral,  Seville  ...  70 

Cathedral  and  Giralda  Tower,  Seville  . . .76 

Cathedral  and  Campanile,  Florence 

from  Or  S.  Michele  ..  I ....  82 

Milan  Cathedral 88 

Ospedale  Maggiore,  Milan — Three  Windows  . . 94 

LECTURE  IV 

Chateau  de  Blois — Aile  de  Louis  XII,  Facade  . . .100 

Tours  Cathedral 106 

Church  of  St.  Etienne  du  Mont,  Paris  . . .112 

Apse  of  Church  of  St.  Pierre,  Caen  . . . .118 


IX 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS — Continued 


LECTURE  V 

PAGE 

Palace  of  Versailles 130 

Mont-Saint-Michel 132 

Santa  Sophia,  Constantinople 134 

Houses  of  Parliament,  London 136 

LECTURE  VI 

Pine  Tree  on  an  Island — Hiroshige  . . . .148 

Bas-Relief  of  Athena  and  Her  Owl  . . . . 149 

Portrait  of  Madame  Recamier — David  . . . .150 

Roman  Ionic  Arcade  by  Vignole  ....  On  1 5 1 
Doorway,  Church  of  Saint  Trophime,  Arles  . .152 

Madonna  del  Sacco — Andrea  del  Sarto  . . .152 

Application  of  the  Equilateral  Triangle  to 

the  Erechtheum  at  Athens  ....  On  153 

Sacred  and  Profane  Love — Titian 154 

The  Last  Supper — Leonardo  da  Vinci  . . . .156 

Pattern  Derived  from  Grouped  Cubes  . . . On  162 

A Bay  Window 162 

Pattern  Derived  from  the  6oo-Hedroid  . . On  164 

Projection  of  the  6oo-Hedroid  on  a Plane  . . On  164 

An  Organ  Case 164 

Geometrical  “Web”  and  Ornament  Derived 

from  the  6oo-Hedroid On  1 66 

The  Water  Gate 1 66 

Tetrahedrons  and  Derived  Ornament  . . . On  167 

Formation  of  the  Magic  Square  of  Three  . . On  168 

Knots  from  Magic  Lines On  168 

Book  Cover  Design  Based  on  the  Knight’s 

Tour  or  Magic  Square  of  Eight  . . . On  169 


x 


THE  PROMISE  AND  THE  FULFILMENT 
OF  GOTHIC  ARCHITECTURE 

BY 

RALPH  ADAMS  CRAM 


I 


THE  BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 

All  great  architecture  is  organic;  every 
building  that  has  endured,  or  will  endure,  as  a 
monument  of  good  art  is,  in  a very  real  sense, 
a living  organism.  Like  the  horse,  the  tiger,  or 
the  eagle,  all  its  parts  are  perfectly  adapted  to 
their  function,  admirably  co-ordinated,  deter- 
mined by  exact  considerations  of  the  adaptation 
of  means  to  end,  and  expressed  in  forms  and 
lines  that  are  in  themselves  beautiful.  Like 
man,  it  also  is  possessed  of  spirit,  and  the  com- 
bination of  these  two  elements  gives  it  an  actual 
life  and  almost  places  it  in  the  category  of  the 
creatures  that  exist  by  the  will,  and  at  the  hand, 
of  God. 

The  variations  in  style  between  one  century 
and  another  are  as  human  variations  in  race 
and  speech,  and  as  those  wide  intervals  that 
separate  one  epoch  of  high  civilization  from 
another  of  a correspondingly  low  type,  or  from 
those  intermediate  stages  which  form  the  major 
part  of  history.  Like  the  life  it  so  closely  re- 
sembles and  so  exactly  represents,  architecture 
is  a thing  of  infinite  but  rhythmical  vicissitudes, 

a 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


with  brief  periods  of  supreme  achievement  inter- 
spersed with  long  intervals  of  slow  rise  and  swift 
decline,  and  again,  like  life,  it  shows  no  progres- 
sive growth,  no  tendency  toward  earthly  perfec- 
tion. If  there  are  moments  when  the  art  crests 
in  such  splendid  accomplishment  as  occurred  in 
Greece,  in  Byzantium,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  it 
cannot  be  said  that  as  a whole  the  later  mani- 
festations reached  higher  levels  than  the  earlier, 
their  individual  excellence  being  only  in  certain 
categories. 

In  every  case,  however,  there  is  a close  rela- 
tionship between  this  art  (and  its  allied  arts)  and 
the  civilization  that  brought  it  into  being.  There 
is  no  great  art  with  an  immediately  antecedent 
condition  of  barbarism;  there  is  no  degraded  art 
in  close  succession  from  a high  civilization.  Art 
and  life  do  not  synchronize;  they  form  a sequence, 
and  as  art  itself  comes  at  and  after  the  cresting 
of  a wave  of  human  development,  we  often  find 
a strange  contemporaneousness  of  noble  art  and  a 
civilization  that  already  has  begun  to  decay. 

To  understand  a style,  therefore,  it  is  necessary 
to  do  more  than  scrutinize  its  material  elements, 
determining  by  scientific  methods  its  line  of  sty- 
listic descent  and  the  peculiarities  of  its  organic 
mechanism.  This  is,  it  must  be  admitted,  the 
usual  course,  and  it  lands  both  historian  and 

[4] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


student  in  such  a dilemma  as  that  which  con- 
fronts those  who,  confining  their  scrutiny  to  the 
material  elements  alone,  find  the  Gothic  of 
France  the  most  logical  and  perfectly  worked-out 
manifestation  of  a style  that  was  almost  Europe- 
wide, and  therefore,  since  the  other  national 
modes  fall  short  of  this,  deny  to  these  even  the 
once  derided,  now  universally  revered,  style  of 
“Gothic.” 

This  process  is  less  architectural  history  and 
criticism  than  it  is  architectural  biology  and 
pathology.  In  architecture,  as  in  all  arts,  in  all 
existence,  it  is  the  spirit  that  giveth  life;  and 
it  is  not  the  forms,  it  is  the  spirit  behind  and 
within  Greek,  Byzantine,  Gothic,  and  Chinese 
Buddhist  architecture  that  makes  each  live,  as 
do  not  the  other  epochs  of  its  varied  and  illum- 
inating career. 

Fully  to  understand  the  great  significance  of 
that  era  of  architectural  growth  which,  beginning 
roughly  with  the  year  1000,  goes  on  with  ever- 
increasing  vigor  until  it  culminates  about  three 
centuries  later,  we  should  have  to  study  not 
alone  the  rise  of  Romanesque,  its  transition  into 
the  first  Gothic,  its  astounding  climax  in  the 
first  quarter  of  the  thirteenth  century,  and  its 
slow  and  splendid  decay  through  another  two 
hundred  years;  we  should  also  have  to  merge 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


ourselves  in  the  intricate  history  of  this  great 
period  of  five  centuries,  in  its  political  and  eco- 
nomic development,  its  philosophical  adventures, 
its  crusades  and  guilds  and  communes,  above 
all  in  those  religious  experiences  and  determina- 
tions that  are  its  greatest  exemplification  as  they 
are  its  underlying  cause. 

Manifestly  this  is  impossible  within  the  scope 
of  two  lectures.  It  is  the  labor  of  years  (if  it  is 
not  the  illumination  of  a moment)  and  not  now 
for  us.  All  we  can  do  is  to  note  the  most  salient 
points  and  block  out  the  main  lines  of  what  I 
hope  for  many  may  be  subsequently  a study  as 
revealing  as  it  is  absorbing. 

I need  not  remind  you  of  the  original  signifi- 
cance of  the  word  “Gothic” — how  it  was  given 
in  scorn  by  the  self-sufficient  amateurs  of  the 
Renaissance  to  the  art  they  had  inherited  but 
could  neither  appreciate  nor  rival.  To  them  the 
word  and  the  work  meant  anything  barbarous 
and  illiterate,  and  illuminating  as  this  is  on  the 
point  of  their  own  intelligence,  it  is,  I think, 
hardly  so  discreditable  as  is  that  effort,  of  which 
I have  already  spoken,  on  the  part  of  modern 
commentators  to  reduce  one  of  the  most  inspired 
and  inspiring  arts  to  the  terms  of  a few  structural 
formulae.  Gothic  architecture  and  Gothic  art 
were  an  impulse  and  a tendency:  as  the  Greeks 

[6] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


took  the  simplest  conceivable  architectural  norm 
and  developed  it  to  final  perfection,  so  the 
mediaeval  builders  took  the  most  complicated 
problem  and  tried  to  develop  it  to  that  point  of 
perfection  which  they  saw  in  some  beatific  vision, 
and  which  was  actually  beyond  the  power  of  man 
to  attain. 

Of  course  they  failed;  but  they  left,  not  a 
perfected  thing  subject  neither  to  change  nor  to 
improvement,  but  a stimulating  force  ever  in- 
citing men  to  take  up  the  work  they  left  unfin- 
ished, and  high-heartedly  to  strive  once  more  to 
achieve  the  unattainable. 

To  this  extent  it  was  a greater  art  than  had 
been  known  before;  for  its  aim  was  higher,  its 
goal  more  clearly  revealed,  and  this  goal  was 
that  which  lies  at  the  very  root  of  art  itself,  viz., 
the  symbolical  expression  of  otherwise  inexpres- 
sible ideas,  i.e.,  those  which  by  their  very  nature 
are  so  high  that  they  transcend  all  ordinary  and 
direct  modes  of  human  expression.  Consciously 
or  unconsciously,  mediaeval  art  was  at  bottom 
sacramental,  and  this  explains,  in  a way,  its 
immortality,  its  constantly  recurring  appeal,  as 
it  explains  the  same  immortality  and  appeal  by 
sacramental  religion  and  sacramental  philosophy 
- — as  of  St.  Bernard  and  St.  Thomas  Aquinas  and 
Hugh  of  St.  Victor — for  it  is  only  such  art,  such 

[?] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


philosophy,  such  religion,  that  will  permanently 
endure,  since  these  alone  are  in  eternal  conformity 
with  life,  which  also  is  essentially  and  unchange- 
ably sacramental. 

Between  mediaeval  civilization  and  mediaeval 
art  the  connection  was  so  close  as  to  amount  to 
practical  identity.  Rheims,  Freiburg,  Canter- 
bury, are  simply  the  Middle  Ages  made  visible 
and  translated  into  the  terms  of  an  enduring  and 
dynamic  influence.  All  the  joy  of  life,  the  vivid 
vitality,  the  humor,  romance,  and  mysticism, 
the  simplicity  and  naivete  of  that  opulent  age 
find  outlet  through  the  wrought  stone  and  wood, 
glass,  and  metal  that  assembled  under  eager 
hands  and  at  the  impulse  of  ardent  brains  to 
create  that  plexus  of  all  the  arts,  a mediaeval 
cathedral.  We  may  read  history  without  limit 
and  delve  in  original  records  for  years  without 
acquiring  as  much  sense  of  the  real  mediaevalism 
as  we  could  obtain  through  a day  in  Bourges  or 
York  or  Strasburg — if  only  there  we  could  find 
what  once  was:  all  the  arts  assembled  together 
to  make  a Mass  as  it  was  before  the  shrines  and 
altars  and  windows  were  broken,  and  the  bizarre 
music  and  tawdry  ceremonial  of  the  nineteenth 
century  took  the  place  of  the  massive  Gregorians 
and  the  solemn  ritual  of  the  fourteenth  century. 
Even  now,  however,  in  such  a church  as  Chartres 

[8] 


SANT’  AMBROGIO— INTERIOR 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


or  Seville  it  is  possible  to  re-create  the  dead  past, 
as  is  impossible  in  schoolroom  or  study  or 
lecture-hall. 

Gothic  art  is  a great  unit,  and  into  this  enter 
certain  traditional,  ethnic,  and  religious  elements 
that  determine,  not  only  its  spirit,  but  its  form  as 
well.  Under  the  first  heading  we  have  all  the 
classical  heritage  from  Rome  and  the  East 
through  the  Latin  South  of  France  and  the 
pseudo-Byzantine  Carolingians;  under  the  sec- 
ond, the  dominating  northern  blood,  which, 
whether  Frank,  Norman,  or  Burgundian,  wholly 
succeeded  and  dominated  the  decadent  blood  of 
the  South;  under  the  third,  that  all-embracing 
Catholicism  which  was  the  moving  and  regen- 
erating force,  directing,  controlling,  inspiring, 
through  monastic  establishments,  military  orders, 
and  the  crusades. 

The  Romanesque  of  the  eleventh  and  twelfth 
centuries  in  all  Europe,  the  Gothic  of  the  thir- 
teenth, fourteenth,  and  fifteenth  centuries  in 
Flanders,  France,  Spain,  and  England,  were  the 
direct  expression  of  the  greatest  and  most  benefi- 
cent religious  reformation  ever  recorded  in 
Christendom,  carrying  in  its  train  a civil  reforma- 
tion that  redeemed  western  civilization  from  the 
Dark  Ages  and  built  up  for  the  first  time  a great 
and  measurably  consistent  Christian  society.  It 

[9] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


shows  it;  for  of  all  art  it  is  at  once  the  most  com- 
petent and  the  most  inspired,  mingled  equally  of 
active  reason,  good  sense,  brilliant  thinking,  and 
a spiritual  emphasis,  a final  idealism  that  we 
may  search  long  in  world-annals  to  equal. 

Beginning  at  the  hands  of  monks  of  many 
orders,  this  art  infused  the  whole  Church,  being 
taken  up  at  last  by  the  bishops  and  focused  in 
the  vast  and  innumerable  cathedrals,  and  so 
extended  through  the  laity,  high  and  low,  until 
it  became  an  intimate  and  indispensable  attribute 
of  life  itself. 

The  material  and  structural  development  of 
Gothic  architecture  was  a result  neither  of  sud- 
den revelation  nor  of  headlong  evolution;  it  was 
a phenomenon  of  slow  and  logical  growth.  In 
plan,  structure,  and  organism,  it  reaches  back 
through  Norman,  Romanesque,  Lombard,  By- 
zantine, and  Syrian  trails  to  Rome  itself.  Even 
in  the  basilicas  of  the  Eternal  City  we  find  the 
nave  and  aisles  separated  by  columns  and  arches, 
the  colonnaded  triforium  and  clerestory,  the 
transept,  choir,  and  apse.  Transferred  to  the 
shores  of  the  Bosporus,  the  Roman  mode  of 
building  is  divided  into  two  followings — the 
basilican  and  the  domical.  Here  they  are  sepa- 
rated, the  Eski  Djouma  and  St.  Demetrius  in 
Salonica  being  very  noble  examples  of  the  first; 
[io] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


Aya  Sophia  in  the  same  city,  SS.  Sergius  and 
Bacchus,  the  churches  of  the  Pantokrator  and 
the  Chora,  and  of  course  Aya  Sophia  itself,  in 
Constantinople,  immortal  examples  of  the  second. 
Both  are  strictly  Roman  in  origin;  but  as  under 
Constantine  the  basilican  type  was  vastly  en- 
riched and  developed  over  its  Roman  prototype, 
so  under  Justinian  the  domical  and  cellular  mo- 
tive was  elaborated  into  the  almost  unimagin- 
able splendor  of  that  most  glorious  church, 
where,  after  five  centuries  of  alien  occupation, 
we  are  now  permitted  to  believe  that  we  our- 
selves may  see  the  Christian  Sacrifice  offered 
once  more  in  petition  and  in  expiation. 

In  Syria  and  Byzantium,  Roman  architecture 
first  became  structurally  and  artistically  con- 
sistent, and  the  work  of  Justinian,  through  his 
Greek  architects  and  under  a majestic  religious 
faith  blended  with  the  Christianized  splendor  of 
the  East,  must  be  considered  as  one  of  the  great 
styles  in  history.  Perfect  as  it  was  in  all  its 
internal  organism  and  decoration,  it  never  worked 
out  a corresponding  exterior,  although,  when 
both  basilican  and  domical  types  were  imported 
into  Italy  and  Greece  under  the  Exarchs,  in 
certain  places,  particularly  in  the  latter,  this  last 
development  began,  as  in  the  exquisite  little 
monasteries  of  Styris  and  Daphne. 

[ii] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


It  was  too  late,  however;  the  stimulus  of  a 
vital  civilization  had  passed,  and  the  evolution 
was  left  for  other  hands  and  other  races.  This 
came  in  part  with  the  introduction  of  the  strong 
northern  blood  of  the  Lombards.  The  old 
basilican  mode  had  been  carried  on  in  Rome  on 
Christian  lines  after  the  Edict  of  Milan  in  313, 
but  the  Lombards  after  568  introduced  a totally 
new  spirit,  and  in  Toscanella,  and  later  in  Pisa, 
Verona,  Lucca,  Milan,  we  see  the  striking  results 
of  a radically  new  departure  marked  by  an  im- 
pulse as  northern  as  all  that  had  gone  before  had 
been  southern. 

Venice  was  always  a splendid  anachronism,  a 
Byzantine  colony  in  the  midst  of  aliens,  and 
St.  Mark's  is  not  in  the  line  of  architectural 
descent,  which  for  the  future  was  to  be  under 
the  direction  of  the  supreme  North. 

There  was,  however,  one  element  of  great  mys- 
tery and  equal  uncertainty,  the  influence  of  the 
Comacini.  There  are  those  who  attribute  to 
them  all  that  afterward  was  evolved  under  the 
Carolings,  the  Normans,  and  the  Franks;  others 
who  look  on  them  as  half  mythical  and  wholly 
ineffective.  For  my  own  part,  I incline,  for  once, 
toward  a middle  ground,  believing  in  their  un- 
doubted existence  and  their  persistent  influence, 
but  finding  in  the  new  and  vital  power  of  northern 

[12] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


blood,  fixed  by  monastic  fervor  for  righteousness, 
not  only  the  unique  bent  toward  new  and  splen- 
did things,  but  also  the  elan  that  alone  could 
revitalize  a tradition  already  moribund. 

These  Comacini  were  the  colonies  or  guilds  of 
free  builders  (some  call  them  free  masons  and 
the  progenitors  of  the  modern  secret  societies  of 
the  same  name)  who  fled  from  Rome  in  the  midst 
of  its  downfall  and  sought  refuge  on  an  island  in 
Lake  Como,  in  a region  still  under  the  evanescent 
protection  of  the  empire  of  New  Rome,  or  Byzan- 
tium. They  are  held  to  have  brought  with  them 
in  their  exile,  not  only  the  traditions  of  Roman 
building,  but  dim  memories  and  symbolisms 
from  the  East,  even  from  Jerusalem  itself.  Here, 
in  this  island  refuge,  were  preserved  through  the 
Dark  Ages  the  sole  surviving  tradition  of  the  old 
building  of  the  days  of  classical  culture,  and 
when  at  last  Charlemagne  desired  to  restore  the 
art  of  architecture  again,  it  is  from  this  island 
that  he  drew  his  builders,  who  thereafter  spread 
slowly  over  Europe,  founding  new  lodges  and 
transmitting  to  their  successors  the  methods  and 
secrets  and  traditions  of  the  immortal  past. 

Much  of  the  evidence  to  support  this  theory  is 
circumstantial,  but  it  must  be  admitted  that  it 
is  cumulative  and  generally  convincing,  and 
those  who  are  interested  in  an  obscure  and 

[13] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


tempting  quest  may  follow  it  readily  in  Leader 
Scott's  Cathedral  Builders , which,  while  not 
always  reliable  as  to  dates  and  attributions,  is 
full  of  an  immense  amount  of  incontestible 
testimony. 

That  the  early  “Lombard"  work  of  the  eighth 
century  in  Italy,  as  at  Toscanella,  is  novel  and 
vividly  original  as  well  as  competent  and  beau- 
tiful, is  undeniable,  and  the  peculiar  qualities 
there  shown  reveal  themselves  century  after 
century  in  Normandy,  Burgundy,  and  the  Rhine 
country,  as  well  as  in  Lombardy  itself,  until  in 
the  twelfth  century  they  come  full-flower  in 
Padua,  Verona,  Pavia,  Milan,  Lucca,  and  Pisa. 
In  Italy  it  is  a distinguished  and  an  exquisite 
style,  vital  and  intelligent,  quick  with  invention, 
and  with  a certain  wild  charm  that  well  covers 
its — sometimes  refreshing — naivete  and  even 
barbarism.  In  the  North  it  shows  itself  in  many 
ways,  though  here  rather  as  a bending,  not  a 
controlling,  influence.  We  find  it  at  Cluny,  at 
Jumieges,  at  Caen,  and  it  is  impossible  now  to 
say  how  much  of  this  persistent  and  wide-spread 
quality  may  be  due  to  the  successors  of  the  old 
Roman  guilds,  how  much  to  the  latent  force  in 
the  Lombardic  race.  Some  line  of  succession 
was  operative,  influencing  many  peoples  in  many 
lands  and  spreading  far  and  wide,  not  methods 

[14] 


DURHAM  CATHEDRAL— WEST  FRONT 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


of  building  alone,  not  types  of  ornament  such  as 
the  interlacing  strands  and  the  wild  things  from 
the  forests,  but  an  elaborate  and  mystical  sys- 
tem of  symbolism  as  well,  so  fully  worked  out 
that  the  monk  Durandus  in  the  eleventh  century 
had  it  all  at  his  finger  ends. 

Between  the  two  types  we  are  considering,  the 
question  was  live  loads  versus  dead  loads.  The 
basilica  was  inactive;  its  small  nave  arches  had 
little  thrust  and  its  apse  semi-dome  also;  the 
great  triumphal  arch  to  the  choir  was  the  only 
thing  that  was  seriously  active.  The  domical 
structure,  even  when  its  domes  and  vaults  were 
of  concrete,  was  always  pushing  in  every  direc- 
tion and  putting  a premium  on  that  ingenuity 
that  was  always  busy  devising  balancing  thrusts. 
In  spite  of  its  simplicity  and  inexpensiveness,  the 
basilica  yielded  to  the  dome,  partly  for  material 
considerations  of  permanence  and  fire  protec- 
tion, partly  because  the  northern  mind  was  not 
content  with  easy  tasks.  By  900  a.d.,  in  Sant' 
Eustorgio  in  Milan,  transverse  arches  were  being 
thrown  across  the  aisles  from  each  pier,  thus 
involving  the  first  rudimentary  buttresses.  In 
985,  as  at  the  Church  of  Santi  Felice  e Fortunato 
in  Vicenza,  these  transverse  arches  were  thrown 
across  the  nave  itself,  as  long  before  in  Syria, 
usually  on  the  alternating  system.  Then  from 

[15] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 

the  domical  buildings  of  Syria,  Byzantium,  and 
Ravenna  came  the  masonry  vaulting  of  the 
smaller  areas,  and  at  last  the  masonry  con- 
struction of  the  high  vault. 

Before  this  last  innovation,  which  brought 
the  whole  system  of  Gothic  construction  and 
organism  in  its  train,  the  ribbed  vault  had  to 
be  devised.  When  this  happened  no  one  knows, 
but  it  was  probably  a northern  invention  and 
meant  the  ultimate  transformation  of  the  simple 
Roman  organism  into  the  most  nervous  and 
highly  articulated  creation  of  the  hand  of  man. 
The  aisle  rib  vaults  at  Montefiascone  may  be 
original;  if  so,  they  date  from  1032.  The  high 
vault  of  Sant’  Ambrogio  is  also  doubtful  and  may 
be  of  the  year  1060.  The  present  weight  of  evi- 
dence points  to  Normandy,  or  even  Durham  in 
England,  where  the  ribbed  vault  is  of  the  year 
1093,  but  for  my  own  part  I believe  it  is  Lom- 
bard; for  it  is  exactly  in  line  with  other  undoubted 
inventions  of  the  same  ingenious  race. 

Whatever  its  source,  this  ribbed  and  domed 
vault  was  the  greatest  discovery  of  man  in  archi- 
tecture, after  the  arch  and  the  dome,  and  its 
suppleness,  adaptability,  and  perversity  in  the 
matter  of  thrusts  were  stimulating  to  a degree. 

The  development  of  the  compound  pier  and 
archivolt  and  of  the  alternating  system  followed 

[16] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


hand  in  hand  with  the  evolution  of  the  ribbed 
and  domed  vault.  The  oblong  vaulting  spaces 
for  the  nave,  in  place  of  square  areas,  were  worked 
out  in  Normandy  through  the  abbeys  of  Caen, 
by  means  of  sexpartite  stages,  and  at  last  the 
flying  buttress,  which  has  grown  from  the  arched 
abutments  of  Sant’  Ambrogio,  through  the  half- 
barrel vaults  of  the  Abbaye  aux  Hommes,  to 
the  true  flying  buttress  of  the  Abbaye  des  Dames, 
which  was  still  modestly  concealed  below  the 
roof.  At  Noyon,  about  1260,  it  emerged  into  the 
light  of  day,  and  at  the  same  time  the  pointed 
arch,  which  is  first  recorded  in  France  in  the 
Abbey  of  Cluny  at  the  end  of  the  eleventh  cen- 
tury, achieved  complete  acceptance,  partly  be- 
cause of  its  adaptability,  chiefly  because  of  its 
beauty,  and  not  at  all  because  it  aided  in  the 
vaulting  of  oblong  compartments — as  is  so  often 
claimed — simply  because  it  never  was  so  used, 
the  device  of  stilting  having  already  solved  that 
problem  and  made  possible  those  subtle  waved 
surfaces  that  were  and  are  the  joy  of  the  architect. 

In  the  processes  thus  far  narrated  we  have 
acquired  most  of  the  elements  in  the  Gothic 
system:  compound  shaft  and  arch,  ribbed, 

domed,  and  stilted  vaults  (quadripartite,  sex- 
partite,  and  oblong),  buttresses,  flying  buttresses, 
pointed  arches,  while  the  vertical  system  of 

[17] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


arcade,  triforium,  and  clerestory,  and  the  great 
west  towers  are  fully  established  through  such 
monuments  as  Jumieges,  the  abbeys  of  Caen, 
St.  Germer  de  Fly,  and  St.  Denis.  With  the  last 
building  comes  the  perfected  chevet,  that  incom- 
parable masterpiece  of  mediaeval  genius,  with 
its  polygonal  apse,  doubled  aisles,  and  ring  of 
chapels.  At  first  it  would  seem  that  this  was  a 
special  creation  of  Gothic  intelligence,  if  not  of 
divine  revelation,  but  stupendous  as  it  is,  it  was 
a development  of  successive  stages  from  a very 
old  and  equally  simple  norm.  What  has  hap- 
pened was  this,  and  I think  it  very  interesting. 

The  Syrian  builders  of  the  dioceses  of  Damas- 
cus and  Antioch  had  taken  the  primitive  Roman 
basilica — secular  and  pagan — and  added  to  the 
east  end  that  semicircular  apse  which  first 
appears  here  in  one  or  two  heathen  temples  of 
the  early  second  century.  They  thus  obtained 
the  standard  type  of  the  Christian  basilica  which 
has  persisted  even  to  this  day,  whatever  may 
have  been  its  racial  impulse  or  its  stylistic  ex- 
pression. Then  they  cut  this  apsed  basilica  in 
two  and  took  the  simple  semicircular  apse  with 
its  semi-dome  to  see  what  they  could  make  of  it. 
They  made  much.  First  they  completed  it  into  a 
circle;  then  they  developed  the  little  curved 
niches  of  some  of  the  early  apses  into  true,  but 

[i  8] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


subordinate,  apses,  applied  directly  to  the  per- 
imeter of  the  circle;  they  next  raised  the  wall  to 
provide  a clerestory  of  windows  and  encircled  the 
whole  at  the  ground  level  with  a polygonal  aisle. 
The  memory  of  this  early  form  in  Syria  is  still 
preserved  in  the  much  later  San  Vitale  at  Ra- 
venna. The  result  was  a great  organism,  though 
not  perfectly  articulated.  In  such  a church  as 
that  at  Bosrah,  however,  this  defect  was  reme- 
died; for  here  the  aisle  encircles  the  central 
dome,  and  the  apses  are  pushed  to  the  outer 
wall.  The  articulation  is  now  complete,  and 
aesthetically  the  result  affords  the  most  won- 
derful play  of  light  and  shade  imaginable.  On 
the  basis  of  this  unique  development — which 
surely  worked  itself  out  in  the  great  days  of  the 
Church  in  Antioch  and  was  utterly  forgotten 
under  the  desolation  that  followed  the  Moslem 
invasions,  even  until  the  last  century — were 
reared  all  the  wonderful  structures  of  Byzantium, 
of  Charlemagne,  and  of  Southern  France,  as  for 
example,  Aya  Sophia,  Aix-la-Chapelle,  and  Tou- 
louse. By  the  introduction  of  a square  area 
between  two  apses,  and  with  its  dome  supported 
on  pendentives — a device  already  used  in  Syria — 
and  with  its  aisle  curtailed  and  raised  into  two 
stories,  we  have  the  first;  with  an  increase  of 
height  and  the  introduction  of  a triforium  level, 

[19] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 

the  second;  while  in  the  apse  of  the  third  we  find 
the  most  extraordinary  change  of  all — nothing 
less  than  the  cutting  of  the  circle  in  halves  again, 
the  full  evolution  having  been  accomplished,  and 
the  application  of  this  half  to  its  original  position 
at  the  end  of  the  old  basilica,  now  equally  trans- 
formed. Behold,  then,  with  the  other  newly 
devised  elements  I have  already  named,  and  with 
its  articulation  raised  to  the  point  of  finality, 
Bourges,  Chartres,  Rheims,  Westminster — the 
finished  and  ineffable  product,  the  definitive 
Gothic  church. 

Such  is  the  structural  evolution  from  200  a.d. 
until  1100  a.d.,  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
exemplifications  of  the  power  of  human  intellect 
when  it  is  infused  by  a vital  religious  faith  and — 
for  the  last  six  of  these  nine  centuries  at  least — by 
clean  new  blood  and  an  almost  abnormal  vitality. 
In  this  process  certain  buildings  stand  as  mile- 
stones, though  we  must  always  remember  that, 
so  far  as  dates  are  concerned,  this  credit  may  be 
partially  undeserved,  since  it  is  possible,  if  not 
probable,  that  the  truly  era-making  works — 
those,  that  is,  in  which  some  master-builder 
struck  out  first  of  all  men  some  revolutionary 
and  prolific  device — have  been  utterly  destroyed 
or  buried  under  the  desert  sand  of  Moslem  devas- 
tation or  the  heaped  debris  of  revolution.  On 

[20] 


ABBAYE  AUX  DAMES,  CAEN— INTERIOR 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


the  basis  of  what  remains,  however,  these  build- 
ings are:  the  church  at  Bosrah,  Charlemagne's 
church  at  Aix-la-Chapelle,  Sant'  Ambrogio,  Jumi- 
eges,  the  two  abbeys  of  Caen,  St.  Germer  de  Fly, 
and  St.  Denis.  In  the  first  two  of  these  we  find 
the  promise  and  potency  of  the  chevet;  in  the 
third,  the  germs  that  were  to  develop  into  at 
least  three  of  the  essential  elements  of  Gothic; 
in  the  fourth,  the  main  qualities  of  Gothic  mass 
and  organism;  in  the  two  Caen  abbeys,  the  norm 
of  all  French  cathedrals  on  the  one  hand,  of  all 
English  abbeys  and  cathedrals  on  the  other;  in 
St.  Germer,  the  actual  chevet  itself,  as  the  North 
translated  and  glorified  the  dim  prophecies  of 
the  East;  and  in  St.  Denis,  the  final  gathering 
up  of  everything  in  preparation  for  the  great 
flowering  that  was  to  come  in  less  than  fifty 
years.  It  was  a masterly  sequence,  and  it  postu- 
lates a great  civilization  behind;  for  after  all,  thus 
far  we  have  considered  only  the  structural  evolu- 
tion. The  qualities  which  give  all  this  art,  whether 
Byzantine,  Romanesque,  or  Gothic,  its  supreme 
character  are  those  subtle  qualities  of  beauty, 
inspiration,  and  evocative  power  which  are  the 
vivifying  spirit  of  great  art  and  follow  only  from 
a potent  civilization. 

Now  while  there  was  no  violent  revolution,  no 
artificial  swerving  of  the  line  of  development, 

[21] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


such  as  occurred,  for  example,  in  the  case  of  the 
Renaissance,  there  was  a great  transformation 
in  the  spirit  that  was  working  in  the  world  and 
dominating  it.  If  we  are  to  gain  any  idea  of 
what  this  was  and  why  it  was  so  potent,  you 
must  bear  with  me  while  I revert  to  a little 
ancient,  and  very  ancient,  history. 

By  the  year  500  Rome  had  fallen,  and  classical 
civilization  had  become  a name.  Over  the  dis- 
appearing frontiers  of  empire  poured  the  hordes 
of  northern  barbarians,  and  only  the  successor  of 
St.  Peter  was  left  in  a desolated  city  to  bear  wit- 
ness against  anarchy,  heresy,  and  chaos.  And 
yet,  in  the  crash  of  toppling  empires,  in  the 
North  the  king  of  the  Franks  was  baptized,  and 
in  Rome  itself  Gregory  the  Great  mounted  the 
chair  of  Peter.  From  him  went  out  the  streams 
of  energy  that  were  to  redeem  and  transform  the 
northern  hordes,  through  the  agency  of  those 
monks  who  had  accepted  the  Holy  Rule  of  St. 
Benedict,  who  himself  was  the  center  and  the 
energizing  power  of  the  new  era  that  was  to  last 
for  a thousand  years. 

Neither  Rome  nor  its  successor,  Catholic  civil- 
ization, was  built  in  a day,  and  it  took  five  full 
centuries  to  bring  the  work  of  St.  Benedict  to 
final  fruition.  There  was  a short-lived  and  par- 
tial success  under  Charlemagne,  but  ruin  followed 

[22] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


after,  and  it  was  not  until  927  that  St.  Odo 
reformed  the  sterile  Benedictinism  of  the  Dark 
Ages  and,  through  the  order  of  Cluny,  made  it 
operative  again  as  its  great  founder  would  have 
had  it.  Almost  at  the  same  moment  Otto  the 
Great  restored  civil  order  under  a regenerated 
Holy  Roman  Empire,  St.  Bruno  began  the 
building  of  Germanic  civilization,  and  Hugh 
Capet  with  Bishop  Gerbert  set  out  on  their 
task  of  re-creating  civilization  in  France.  By 
the  year  1000  the  Normans  had  become  fixed 
in  Northern  France,  Christianized  and  ready 
for  action;  the  curtain  rose,  and  the  splen- 
did drama  of  mediaevalism  began  to  unfold 
itself. 

The  first  act  is  the  era  of  a new  Benedictinism 
and  what  we  call  Romanesque  and  Norman 
architecture.  To  this  mode  the  Benedictine  was 
always  devoted,  and  he  made  it  a thing  of  power 
and  nobility  and — in  the  end — inordinate  rich- 
ness. He  began  where  Byzantium  and  Charle- 
magne left  off;  he  re-created  architecture  on 
Christian  lines,  but  he  could  not  continue  to  the 
end,  for  the  reason  that  monasticism,  while  in- 
destructible in  essence,  is  human  in  its  agencies, 
therefore  fallible,  and  doomed  after  each  century 
to  sink  to  a point  where  a reformation  is 
imperative. 


[23] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


As  the  Cluniac  wave  so  spent  itself,  it  slipped 
slowly  back  into  a very  human  corruption,  and 
its  art  took  on  a splendor  and  a magnificence 
that  defeated  its  own  ends.  Then  came  the 
inevitable  reform  in  the  shape  of  the  great  Cis- 
tercian revolt  against  luxury  of  life  and  laxity 
of  morals  and  an  unwholesome  sumptuousness  in 
art.  The  Cluniac  and  the  Norman  created 
Romanesque,  the  Cistercian  and  Frank  created 
Gothic,  and  Gothic  in  its  beginnings  was  a 
puritanical  revolt  against  a too  splendid  art. 

It  was  well  that  this  should  be  so,  for  at  once 
men's  minds  were  turned  from  ornament  to  form, 
structure — in  a word,  to  organism,  which  is  archi- 
tecture. The  round  arched  Benedictine  style 
was  becoming  a thing  too  costly  to  be  endured; 
too  costly  in  its  enormous  masses  of  masonry, 
too  costly  in  its  florid  and  superabundant  decora- 
tion. At  first  St.  Bernard  would  have  not  even  a 
carved  moulding,  no  stained  glass,  no  costly  fur- 
nishings, no  sumptuous  ceremonial,  while  the 
ingenuity  of  his  master-workmen  was  exerted 
toward  finding  a system  whereby,  through  a 
balancing  of  thrusts,  the  sheer  bulk  of  building 
material  in  any  structure  could  be  reduced 
one-half. 

They  found  it,  and  Gothic  architecture  was 
the  result;  but  in  the  process — not  of  structural 

[24] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


evolution,  but  of  that  social  evolution  which  lay 
behind — they  found  and  they  created  much  else. 
Justly  estimated,  the  eleventh  is  one  of  the  most 
wonderful  centuries  in  history;  for  then  began, 
and  with  astonishing  vigor,  all  those  great  move- 
ments that  were  to  find  their  climax  in  what  has 
been  well  called  the  “thirteenth,  greatest  of  cen- 
turies.” The  monks  of  Cluny  were  spreading 
enlightenment  and  order  from  a thousand  centers 
all  over  Europe.  When  Gerbert  became  pope  as 
Sylvester  II,  the  degradation  of  the  Papacy  came 
to  an  end,  and  such  great  pontiffs  as  Leo  IX  and 
Gregory  VII  assumed  sovereign  direction  of 
Christian  civilization.  Heathenism  and  Moham- 
medanism were  beaten  back,  the  Slav  and  Ger- 
manic tribes  (all  but  the  Prussians)  were  Chris- 
tianized, and  into  Britain,  Italy,  Sicily,  the 
Levant,  poured  the  Normans,  bringing  with  them 
order  and  the  Catholic  faith.  Schools  were  built 
on  monastic  foundations  in  every  land,  the  mer- 
chant guilds  came  into  being,  art  was  reborn,  and 
at  last  the  flame  of  universal  fervor  culminated 
in  the  First  Crusade. 

As  all  architecture,  and  particularly  Gothic 
architecture,  is  pre-eminently  organic,  so  was 
the  civilization  that  brought  it  into  being  and 
used  it  as  its  chosen  mode  of  visible  expression. 
The  three  centuries  from  1000  a.d.  to  1300  a.d. 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


were  probably  the  most  wholesomely  organized 
and  the  most  sanely  balanced  and  the  most 
physically  and  spiritually  stimulating  that  Chris- 
tian Europe  has  known — at  least  so  far  as  France* 
England,  and  Germany  (again  omitting  Prussia 
and  Brandenburg,  which  were  not  even  Christian- 
ized) are  concerned.  No  one  would  deny  the  exist- 
ence of  violence,  ignorance,  corruption;  but  these 
things  have  always  been  and,  if  we  are  to  judge 
from  the  present  condition  of  the  world,  always 
will  be.  The  point  is  that  they  were  then  less 
dominating,  less  mordant  in  their  influence,  than 
before  or  since,  while  they  were  largely  neutral- 
ized, or  at  least  mitigated,  by  other  elements  of 
supreme  virtue  and  nobility  that  had  issue  in  a 
society,  a civil  government,  an  art,  a philosophy, 
and  a religion  that  combined  to  produce  a con- 
dition of  life  which  has  in  history  few  rivals  in 
the  creation  of  fine  human  character. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  do  more  at  this  time 
than  to  indicate  lines  of  possible  study,  as,  for 
example,  the  origin  and  development  under  mo- 
nastic influence  of  innumerable  schools  all  over 
Europe,  particularly  schools  of  philosophy,  medi- 
cine, and  general  culture;  the  growth  of  a spe- 
cifically Catholic  philosophy,  on  an  essentially 
Greek  foundation,  but  wholly  Christian  in  its 
essence  and  destined  to  a final  flowering  in  such 

[26] 


ELY  CATHEDRAL— WEST  FRONT 


§8 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


immortal  figures  as  Duns  Scotus,  Hugh  of  St. 
Victor,  and  St.  Thomas  Aquinas;  the  appearance 
of  the  great  merchant  guilds,  with  the  trade 
guilds  to  follow,  and  the  organization  of  those 
landmarks  in  civil  liberty  and  order,  the  village 
and  city  communes;  the  founding  of  those  potent 
agencies  of  civilization,  the  military  orders  of 
knighthood  and  chivalry;  the  outburst  of  a 
creative  and  stimulating  art  that  showed  itself 
in  music  in  the  enrichment  of  the  early  plain- 
song,  in  the  trouveres  and  troubadours;  in  poetry, 
in  the  chansons  de  gestes>  and  the  Arthurian 
legends;  in  architecture  in  Pisa,  Venice,  San 
Miniato  al  Monte,  Worms,  Speyer,  and  Maintz, 
Poitiers,  Le  Puy,  Angouleme,  Arles,  Toulouse, 
Vezelay,  Clermont,  Caen,  St.  Georges  de  Bos- 
cherville,  Jumieges,  Mt.  St.  Michel,  in  Canter- 
bury, Winchester,  Ely,  Glastonbury,  Durham; 
in  the  stained  glass  of  Le  Mans,  Poitiers,  Canter- 
bury, and  Chartres;  in  the  metal  work  of  Hil- 
desheim,  the  sculpture  of  Autun,  Moissac,  and 
Chartres. 

Finally,  one  might  suggest  study  of  some  few 
of  the  great  and  splendid  characters  of  the 
eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  and  of  the  causes 
that  led  to  such  an  unheard-of  galaxy  of  honor- 
able names:  St.  Odo,  St.  Bruno,  Otto  the  Great, 
Hugh  Capet,  Sylvester  II,  Hildebrand  (Pope 

[27] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


Gregory  VII),  Chretien  de  Troyes,  Innocent  III, 
St.  Bernard,  St.  Anselm,  St.  Norbert,  St.  Thomas 
a Becket,  Peter  the  Venerable,  Suger,  Abelard, 
Hugo  of  St.  Victor,  William  of  Champeaux, 
Lothair  II,  Richard  Coeur  de  Lion,  Henry  II, 
Philip  Augustus,  Fulk  of  Anjou,  Roger  of  Sicily, 
Matilda  of  Tuscany,  Eleanor  of  Guienne,  Blanche 
of  Castile. 

The  great  names  coruscate  like  divine  fire- 
works, and  they  were  not  isolated  personalities 
in  a wilderness  of  mediocrity  or  barbarism.  The 
qualities  they  possessed  in  such  supreme  degree 
were  merely  intensifications  of  the  general  life  in 
which  they  were  merged.  Racial  and  national 
self-consciousness,  individual  confidence  and  self- 
respect,  industrial  emancipation  and  develop- 
ment, all  had  become  operative  and  dynamic 
influences,  and  the  result  was  a sane,  consistent, 
and  character-building  civilization  that  seemed 
to  leave  nothing  for  the  thirteenth  century. 
There  was  enough,  however,  as  I shall  try  to 
show  in  my  second  lecture,  when  I propose  to 
consider  the  development  and  full  flowering  of 
Gothic  art,  and  though  only  superficially,  some 
portion  of  the  workings  of  the  extraordinary  elan 
vital  that  lay  behind. 

In  the  meantime,  it  is  well  to  realize  the  amaz- 
ing nature  of  the  work  accomplished  between 

[28] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


St.  Benedict  and  the  First  Crusade.  It  divides 
itself  naturally  into  three  parts,  which  may  be 
called  conservation,  recovery,  and  expansion. 
For  the  first  the  monks  of  St.  Benedict  were 
responsible — and  for  much  else  besides.  They, 
in  their  hidden  monasteries  that  suddenly  sprang 
up  throughout  all  the  West,  collected  and  treas- 
ured the  records  of  Latin  culture,  both  sacred 
and  profane,  furnished  refuges  for  men  and 
women  from  the  perennial  blasts  of  destruction, 
and  cherished,  however  dimly,  the  flame  of 
righteousness  and  order,  the  tradition  of  such 
forgotten  things  as  right  and  wrong.  To  them 
also  belongs  much  of  the  credit  of  the  second 
period  of  recovery,  when,  under  the  House  of 
the  Carolings,  the  world  took  breath  again  and 
set  itself  to  build  a new  earth.  Not  much  was 
accomplished  perhaps — the  day  between  the 
dawning  of  Charles  Martel  and  the  death  of 
Louis  the  Pious  was  too  short — but  out  of  the 
dusty  and  mouldering  monasteries  came  what  had 
been  saved  from  the  wreck  of  worlds,  and  for  a 
few  years  Charlemagne’s  court  did  indeed  do 
much  toward  collating  the  treasure-trove  and 
giving  it,  if  not  a new  life,  at  least  the  poten- 
tiality for  this  when  the  time  should  be  ripe. 

With  the  eleventh  century  this  time  came;  the 
unspeakable  horrors  of  the  second  Dark  Ages — 

[29] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


the  ninth  and  tenth  centuries — had  reached  a 
point  when  no  further  fall  was  possible.  Feu- 
dalism— which  had  saved  some  semblance  of 
order  in  the  first  Dark  Ages — had  become  a 
combination  of  brutal  slavery  and  insane  an- 
archy. Kingship  had  ceased  to  be  operative, 
culture  was  unknown,  misery  universal,  the 
Papacy  a stench  and  a blasphemy,  and  even  the 
Benedictines  themselves  had  sunk  into  a degen- 
eracy from  which  there  seemed  no  escape. 

And  yet  there  was  an  escape,  as  always  when 
the  world  seems  at  the  moment  of  extinction: 
the  year  1000  marked,  not  the  end  of  the  world, 
but  the  end  of  an  era;  the  new  forces  were 
working  hiddenly,  and  when  St.  Odo  founded  the 
order  of  Cluny  they  came  to  the  surface.  At 
once  this  astonishing  power  became  the  great 
motive  force  in  all  Europe,  reforming  monasti- 
cism,  purging  the  Papacy,  wrenching  the  fangs  of 
feudalism  and  secular  control  from  the  throat 
of  the  Church,  restoring  education,  art,  and  cul- 
ture, while  indirectly  assisting  in  the  emanci- 
pation of  the  laborers  and  merchants  and  making 
possible  the  guilds  and  the  city  communes. 

Individual  self-respect,  the  sense  of  solidarity, 
and  the  national  spirit  grew  apace,  but  perhaps 
the  most  potent  development — potent  in  its 
guaranty  of  great  centuries  to  follow — was  the 

l3°] 


BEGINNINGS  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


opening  out  of  religion  and  its  wide  adaptation 
to  the  needs  and  the  instincts  of  men.  During 
the  patristic  period,  whether  in  the  East  or  the 
West,  the  constructive  work  in  the  developing 
and  fixing  of  dogma  had  been  largely  intellectual. 
It  was  concerned  primarily  with  destroying  in- 
numerable and  poisonous  heresies,  with  the  fixing 
deeply  of  everlasting  foundations.  The  passion- 
ate human  element  of  St.  Augustine  was  excep- 
tional, but  the  time  had  now  come  for  carrying 
still  farther  and  developing  more  richly  the 
tendencies  he  represented,  so  making  Catholic 
Christianity  forever  a thing  that  met  every 
demand  and  hunger  of  the  human  soul. 

In  the  time  of  Charlemagne,  Radbertus  had 
put  into  definite  form  the  full  doctrine  of  tran- 
substantiation,  with  all  it  meant  of  poignant 
appeal  and  the  sense  of  divine  immanence. 
Attempts  to  establish  a strictly  (as  it  was  to  be 
in  later  years)  Calvinistic  doctrine  of  fore- 
ordination and  predestination  were  ruthlessly 
crushed;  the  tender  and  merciful  aspects  of 
Christianity  were  emphasized  (though  the  meth- 
ods were  not  always  of  that  ilk) ; and  sacramen- 
talism,  with  its  many  modes  of  approach  to  God, 
its  simple  and  obvious  duties  and  benefits,  inter- 
penetrated the  whole  fabric  of  the  ecclesiastical 
organism  as  well  as  that  of  secular  society. 

[31] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


Finally,  the  place  of  the  angels  and  saints,  and 
particularly  that  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  in  the 
divine  cosmogony,  as  conscious  and  affectionate 
friends,  companions,  and  intercessors,  was  recog- 
nized and  accepted  as  never  before,  with  the 
result  that  by  the  beginning  of  the  eleventh 
century  religion  had  become,  if  not  the  most 
important  thing  in  life,  at  least  the  most  per- 
vasive and  appealing,  influencing  all  secular  and 
personal  affairs  and  giving  a unity  and  consist- 
ency to  human  effort  and  human  existence  such 
as  had  never  been  known  before  in  history  in 
any  similar  degree. 

It  was  the  elan  vital  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
its  amazing  workings  were  to  have  issue  in  that 
unique  and  consistent  civilization,  from  the  year 
noo  to  the  year  1300,  which,  through  its  im- 
mortal artistic  expression,  I shall  consider,  though 
superficially,  in  my  second  lecture. 


[32] 


II 


THE  CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC 
ARCHITECTURE 

To  some  of  those  who  are  most  deeply  affected 
by  the  art  of  mediaevalism  comes  at  times  a 
questioning  and  a doubt.  In  the  prose  and 
metrical  romances  they  find  subtle  delicacy, 
strong  and  sincere  feeling,  exquisite  finish  of 
workmanship;  in  the  great  Latin  hymns,  deep 
and  poignant  emotion  coupled  with  a marvelous 
technical  mastery;  in  the  music  of  the  Gregorian 
mode,  an  art  of  a perfection  as  unique  as  it  is 
compelling;  in  Catholic  philosophy,  profound 
thought  that  is  both  analytical  and  constructive 
to  an  amazing  degree;  and  in  theology,  a quite 
unparalleled  mingling  of  keen  recognition  of 
human  needs,  of  massive  and  logical  construc- 
tiveness, of  spiritual  vision  that  transcends 
thought  and  lays  hold  of  ultimate  things.  In 
the  plastic  arts  they  discover,  as  never  before, 
sculpture  that  in  beauty  and  in  mastery  of  line 
and  form  matches  only  the  best  of  Hellas,  archi- 
tecture that  expresses  itself  as  the  most  perfect 
organism  veiled  in  the  most  delicately  beautiful 

[33] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


forms  that  history  records,  together  with  arts 
altogether  new,  as  those  of  glass  and  tapestry 
and  enamel,  with,  in  every  category,  a handicraft 
that  records  no  equal  antecedents  for  eighteen 
hundred  years. 

By  every  law  of  analogy,  every  precedent  of 
history,  these  conditions,  if  they  are  not  fictions 
of  autosuggestion,  should  argue  the  existence  of 
a civilization  and  a culture  of  corresponding 
nobility  and,  necessarily,  not  only  equal  to  that 
which  produced  the  great  art  of  classical  times, 
but  superior  in  all  essential  respects  to  that  which 
followed  it,  since  this,  confessedly,  had  issue  in  a 
theology  of  doubtful  value,  a philosophy  of — 
even  now — contested  authority  and  diminishing 
credit,  and  a complete  downfall  of  all  the  arts 
save  poetry  and  music  and,  in  a few  instances, 
the  drama. 

And  against  this  they  must  set  an  almost 
universal,  and  a solemnly  authoritative,  asser- 
tion that  behind  this  brilliant  manifestation  of 
culture  and  of  character  lay  social  chaos,  political 
incapacity,  universal  warfare,  cruelty,  injustice, 
oppression,  superstition,  bigotry,  Cimmerian  ig- 
norance, and  all  those  elements  of  barbarism 
that  go  to  the  making  of  what  we  commonly 
know  as  the  Dark  Ages.  The  antithesis  is  strik- 
ing, the  paradox  baffles  the  understanding,  and 

[34] 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


as  a result,  it  is  to  be  feared,  some  are  brought 
to  the  sorry  pass  of  holding  that  after  all  there 
need  be  no  vital  connection  between  culture  and 
civilization,  and  that  art  of  any  and  every  kind, 
lofty  philosophy,  and  a loftier  religion,  need  not 
be  held  to  express  anything  of  nobility  or  achieve- 
ment in  a nation  or  among  a people,  but  may 
manifest  themselves  through  savagery  as  they 
may  disappear  in  an  epoch  of  the  highest 
development. 

Such  a lamentable  deduction  is  quite  un- 
necessary; for  the  paralyzing  antithesis  is  only 
apparent.  It  has  neither  reality  nor  even 
plausibility,  and  is  due  partly  to  the  misleading 
and  wrong-headed  nature  of  written  histories, 
partly  to  a commonly  inadequate  and  equally 
wrong-headed  system  of  education,  partly  to  a 
mental  confusion  and  the  loss  of  any  adequate 
standard  of  comparative  values  that  are  the 
result  of  the  two  first-named  agencies.  Tem- 
peramentally incapable  of  estimating  history 
except  in  terms  of  military  operations,  dynastic 
vicissitudes,  or  concrete  material  achievements, 
the  popular  historians,  confused  in  the  midst 
of  the  apparently  aimless  and  resultless  events 
and  courses  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  these  cate- 
gories of  unimportant  activity,  fall  back  on  the 
conclusion  that  these  are  the  full  revelation  of 

[35] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


the  time,  that  there  was  nothing  in  it  anyway; 
and  they  write  the  history  of  the  thirteenth 
century  in  the  terms  of  Hohenstaufen  and  Capet 
and  Plantaganet,  of  battles  and  councils  and 
treaties  and  “pragmatic  sanctions/'  of  militant 
heresies  and  obscurantist  scholasticism,  of  names 
and  dates  and  titles.  Where  there  are  few  in- 
deed who  write  living  history  as  Henry  Adams 
writes  it,  or  Henry  Osborne  Taylor,  or  Cardinal 
Gasquet,  or  John  Richard  Greene,  or  Lord 
Bryce,  there  are  scores  of  the  “baser  sort,"  who 
mask  their  lack  of  vision  and  of  comprehension 
by  an  erudition  that  almost  persuades  and  by  a 
heaping  of  the  Pelion  of  genealogical  records  on 
the  Ossa  of  military  adventure  that  stuns  if  it 
does  not  enlighten. 

If  you  would  know  the  Middle  Ages  and  why 
they  brought  into  being  the  thing  that  was 
themselves — their  culture — you  must  needs  aban- 
don the  accepted  historical  method  and  consider, 
not  the  things  that  make  facile  textbooks,  but 
those  that  make  life  and  character  and  person- 
ality; for  these  were  the  essence  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  and  they  lie  outside  court  and  camp  and 
council. 

There  is  no  little  significance  in  the  widespread 
and  penetrating  change  now  affecting  the  atti- 
tude of  men  toward  the  comparative  position  of 

[36] 


CHARTRES  CATHEDRAL— INTERIOR 


r> 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


the  arts  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  toward  its 
positive  quality  as  well.  There  is  still  greater 
significance  in  the  new  estimate  of  the  cultural 
background  of  this  art.  Before  the  events  of 
the  last  five  months  of  the  year  1914  opened 
our  eyes  to  the  shallow  and  meaningless  nature 
of  our  own  civilization — until  then  so  highly 
spoken  of,  if  one  remembers  correctly — there 
were  many  who  had  gone  back  from  mediaeval 
art  to  its  social  antecedents  and  accompaniments, 
who  had  rediscovered,  and  in  some  degree  re- 
estimated,  its  philosophy  and  its  religion,  and 
who,  rejecting  the  statistical  history  and  the 
superficial  diagnosis  of  current  and  popular 
chronicles,  had  found  in  the  years  between 
1050  and  1300  a wonderland  and  a revelation. 
It  is  not  to  be  forgotten  that  while  the  dominant 
tendencies  in  society  were  working  themselves 
out,  with  neither  let  nor  hindrance,  to  that 
logical  culmination  that  revealed  itself  in  the 
first  week  of  that  memorable  August  of  the  year 
of  grace  1914,  there  was  developing  simultane- 
ously a tendency  as  different  as  day  from  night, 
and  with  equal  swiftness  and  even  more  startling 
vigor.  Scientific  efficiency,  which — united  to 
religious  infidelity  and  state-worship — has  been 
given  the  name  of  Kultur , was  paralleled  by  a 
very  opposite  thing,  which  has  always  been  known 

[37] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


as  culture,  and  this  latter,  made  up  of  religion, 
philosophy,  and  art,  was  in  its  most  essential 
elements  based  on  the  earlier  culture,  not  of 
Hellenism,  not  of  Roman  imperialism,  not  of  the 
Renaissance,  not  of  the  evolutionary  philosophy 
and  scientific  efficiency  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
but  on  those  very  centuries  from  St.  Bernard  to 
St.  Bonaventure,  from  Chretien  de  Troyes  to 
Dante,  from  Hildebrand  to  St.  Louis,  from 
Noyon  to  Beauvais,  that  had  been  forgotten 
for  four  hundred  years  and  maligned  by 
every  historian  during  that  same  space  of 
time. 

Such  a return,  such  a reaction,  if  you  like,  was 
inevitable.  In  my  former  lecture  I tried  to  show 
something  of  the  wonder  of  those  crescent  years 
from  the  close  of  the  Dark  Ages  in  950  to  the 
culmination  of  Catholic  civilization  three  cen- 
turies later — those  years  that  saw  a new  art, 
born  from  the  ruins  of  a shattered  past,  work 
slowly  through  Norman  and  Romanesque  and 
Burgundian  modes  toward  the  full  flowering  of 
perfected  Gothic  art.  It  is  now  for  us  to  consider 
in  a paragraph  what  justly  requires  many  vol- 
umes— the  continuation  of  this  great  era  of 
growth  and  its  intrinsic  qualities  that  were  the 
basis  of  the  most  comprehensive  and  inspiring 
art  the  world  has  known. 

[38] 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


The  Middle  Ages  form  a period  of  notably 
high  culture  but  of  comparatively  undeveloped 
civilization.  That  this  distinction  is  possible  is 
proved  by  many  eras  of  history,  and  it  must  be 
recognized  if  we  are  correctly  to  understand  and 
estimate  this  particular  period.  Culture  is  made 
up  of  three  elements — philosophy,  religion,  and 
art;  civilization  is  measured  by  the  degree  to 
which  a people  has  diverged  from  barbarism  in 
motives,  manners,  and  customs.  Greece  was  a 
center  of  supreme  culture,  but  her  civilization 
was  of  no  high  order;  Rome  was  superbly  civil- 
ized, but  in  philosophy,  religion,  and  art  she  fell 
immeasurably  below  the  Greece  she  had  de- 
stroyed. During  the  Middle  Ages  there  was 
little  ground  gained  in  the  recovery  of  the  civil- 
ization that  had  disappeard,  together  with  cul- 
ture itself,  during  the  Dark  Ages.  Manners  at 
first  were  rude  and  direct,  civil  government  rudi- 
mentary, industry  carried  on  by  very  primitive 
methods,  material  efficiency  almost  unknown, 
and  yet  philosophy  rose  to  transcendent 
heights,  religion,  both  in  theology  and  in 
action,  was  vital,  commanding,  loftily  beautiful, 
and  of  a nature  that  endures  forever,  while 
art,  in  whatever  category,  rose  out  of  the  nothing- 
ness of  the  tenth  to  the  dizzy  heights  of  the 
thirteenth  century,  where  it  forms  a goal  of 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


emulation  thus  far  unattainable  by  succeeding 
generations.  Civilization  is  an  excellent  means 
to  an  end,  if  that  end  be  character  or  culture, 
but  if  it  is  unfruitful  of  either,  or  if  it  produces 
only  the  Dead  Sea  fruit  of  Kultur , it  is  no  more 
than  the  tree  that  bringeth  forth  evil  fruit,  and 
it  is  cut  down  and  cast  into  the  fire.  Culture, 
on  the  other  hand,  does  not  necessarily  follow 
from  civilization,  nor  does  it  always  have  issue 
in  civilization  or  in  that  human  character  which 
is  the  object  of  life  itself.  Sometimes  it  casts 
its  glamor  over  very  evil  conditions  indeed,  as 
in  Greece  and  Byzantium,  just  as  civilization 
blinds  us  to  equally  evil  conditions  in  the  later 
Renaissance,  and  in  the  nineteenth  and  twentieth 
centuries,  when  true  culture  is  at  a lower  ebb 
than  at  any  time  for  six  hundred  years.  But 
the  mediaeval  period  was  not  of  this  nature,  and 
then,  whatever  we  may  say  of  efficient  civiliza- 
tion, the  culture  of  philosophy,  religion,  and  art 
did  produce  character  of  the  highest,  while  in 
itself  it  finds  few  rivals  in  the  preceding 
centuries  or  in  those  that  have  followed. 

From  the  twelfth  century  the  thirteenth  took 
over  all  the  great  creative  theology  of  St.  Anselm 
and  St.  Bernard  and  continued  it  to  its  logical 
conclusion  through  the  Fourth  Lateran  Council. 
The  pure  piety  and  spiritual  ardor  of  the  great 

[40] 


BOURGES  CATHEDRAL— NAVE 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


founder-monks  of  the  preceding  centuries  blos- 
somed into  a world-wide  monasticism  that  was 
in  general  the  most  stimulating  and  beneficent  in- 
fluence of  the  epoch,  and  closed  at  last  in  the 
perfect  charity  of  St.  Francis  and  the  passionate 
ardor  of  St.  Dominic.  Catholic  philosophy 
achieved  its  highest  point  in  Albertus  Magnus, 
Duns  Scotus,  Roger  Bacon,  St.  Bonaventure, 
Raymond  Lully,  Alexander  Hales,  Hugh  of  St. 
Victor,  and  St.  Thomas  Aquinas.  Now  the 
Arthurian  and  Nibelungen  epics  take  on  their 
final  form,  the  minnesingers  and  meistersingers 
follow  the  trouveres  and  troubadours,  while  Latin 
hymnology  creates  a new  and  glorious  category 
of  art,  and  Dante  closes  the  line  as  the  great 
synthesis,  the  culmination  of  all.  Music  per- 
fected its  Gregorian  mode  and  began  its  develop- 
ment of  harmony  that  was  later  to  culminate  in 
the  eighteenth  century  after  the  death  of  the 
other  arts;  painting  came  into  being  through 
Duccio,  Cimabue,  and  Giotto;  sculpture  in 
France,  and  later  in  Italy  and  England,  recov- 
ered the  spirit  and  the  mastery  of  Greece;  stained 
glass  revealed  itself  in  the  amazing  glories  of 
Chartres,  Bourges,  Angers,  as  art  of  the  greatest, 
while  all  the  minor  crafts  of  metal  and  wood  and 
textiles  followed  suit,  and  toward  an  unexampled 
end. 


[41] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


Of  the  architecture  of  this  amazing  time  I shall 
speak  immediately,  since  this  is  the  long-deferred 
object  of  this  lecture;  but  first  let  me  name  one 
or  two  out  of  the  galaxy  that  prove  beyond  cavil 
that  here  indeed  culture,  without  the  highest 
efficiency  of  civilization,  was  not  inconsistent 
with  the  production  of  noble  character.  Note 
only  such  names  as  Innocent  III,  Gregory  IX, 
Boniface  VIII;  Henry  III  and  Edward  I; 
Frederick  Barbarossa,  Rudolph  of  Hapsburgh, 
Ferdinand  III,  Alfonso  the  Wise,  St.  Louis 
of  France,  Stephen  Langton,  Robert  Grosseteste, 
Blanche  of  Castile,  St.  Clare,  St.  Elizabeth  of 
Hungary.  Everywhere,  on  civil  and  ecclesiastical 
thrones,  in  cloister  and  on  crusade,  in  the  fast- 
multiplying  universities — themselves  the  crea- 
tion of  mediaevalism — we  find  the  most  notable 
personalities,  of  a nature  that  establishes  an 
undying  hope  for  humanity  and  a guaranty  of 
its  powers  of  recuperation  and  lofty  achievement. 

The  development  of  Catholic  faith  and  practice 
along  those  personal  and  appealing  lines,  to  which 
I have  already  referred,  was  the  mainspring  of 
the  new  vitality,  and  this  development  showed 
itself  chiefly  through  an  increasing  richness  and 
intimacy  in  the  sacramental  system  and  in  the 
cult  of  our  Lady  and  the  saints.  The  crusades, 
which  synchronize  with  the  whole  epoch  of  me- 

[42] 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


diaevalism,  the  military  orders  of  knighthood, 
and  the  splendid  pageant  of  chivalry,  all  acted 
as  connecting  links  between  religion  and  secular 
life,  knitting  them  for  a few  brief  centuries  into 
an  organic  whole.  Everywhere,  in  all  lands,  on 
the  hills,  in  the  sheltered  valleys,  beside  the  un- 
polluted streams,  were  the  monasteries,  each 
with  its  free  school  and  sometimes  with  its  cir- 
culating library,  the  guiding  spirit  of  youth,  the 
inspirer  of  manhood,  the  refuge  for  old  age. 
Universities  with  throngs  of  students  rivaling 
the  most  numerous  of  those  today — Prague, 
Paris,  Padua,  Montpellier,  Orleans,  Valencia, 
Valladolid,  Oxford — grew  to  a position  of  power 
we  can  now  hardly  appreciate.  In  almost  every 
great  city  was  a free  hospital  with  isolation  wards 
for  lepers  and  others  afflicted  with  contagious 
diseases. 

So  far  as  the  development  of  civil  liberty,  the 
formulating  of  law,  and  the  organization  of  con- 
stitutional government  are  concerned,  it  is  pos- 
sible to  say  that  more  was  accomplished  in  the 
Middle  Ages  than  during  any  other  equal  period 
in  human  history.  The  Provisions  of  Oxford, 
Magna  Carta,  Bracton’s  Be  Legibus , the  Codes 
of  Frederic  II,  the  Institutes  of  St.  Louis,  the 
Golden  Bull  of  Andrew  II  of  Hungary,  the  codices 
of  canon  law  of  Gregory  IX  and  Boniface  VIII, 

[43] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


are  the  foundation  stones  of  civil  liberty  and  the 
basis  of  modern  law. 

Conditions  of  this  kind  are  the  forcing-house 
of  art;  it  follows  instinctively,  without  the  inter- 
vention of  schools  or  lectureships  or  wealthy 
amateurs.  And  it  is  a united  art,  expressing 
itself,  not  along  one  line  alone,  but  in  myriad 
ways.  Architecture  in  the  thirteenth  century  is 
no  greater  than  sculpture,  or  poetry,  or  music, 
or  glass;  it  is  the  vehicle  of  all,  the  plexus  where 
all  unite  with  one  impulse  and  one  end.  It  is  a 
unity  as  perfect  as  that  of  Hellas,  but  it  is  dif- 
ferent in  its  genesis  and  its  operation;  for  it  is  a 
popular  art,  not  the  art  of  an  elect  caste;  it  is  the 
work  of  free  men,  not  of  servile  agents  under  a 
few  of  high  attainments  and  high  authority;  and 
finally  it  is  the  expression  of  a personal  and  pas- 
sionate religion  that  was  life  itself  to  every  artist 
and  every  craftsman,  every  noble  and  every 
peasant,  whose  possession  it  was  in  fullest  meas- 
ure and  without  distinction  of  class  or  estate. 
It  can  truthfully  be  said  that  the  word  “Gothic” 
as  applied  to  the  plastic  arts  of  mediaevalism  is 
synonymous  with  the  word  “Catholic.” 

Not  that  the  plastic  arts  then,  or  at  any  time, 
are  alone  entitled  to  be  called  art.  The  thing 
itself  is  greater  than  these  and  includes  more, 
particularly  poetry  in  every  form,  with  music, 

[44] 


RHEIMS  CATHEDRAL— WEST  FRONT 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


drama,  and  ceremonial.  The  modern  fashion  of 
confining  the  “fine  arts”  to  painting,  sculpture, 
and  architecture  is  evidence  in  itself  how  far  we 
have  fallen  from  the  cultural  ideal  of  the  Middle 
Ages. 

Now,  architecture,  as  I said  in  my  first  lecture, 
is  primarily  organism;  it  is  also  synthesis,  that 
is,  it  cannot  exist  without  many  of  the  other 
arts,  and  when — as  in  the  case  of  a Gothic 
cathedral  in  operation — it  combines  with  itself 
every  other  mode  of  art,  then  it  becomes  the 
greatest  art-manifestation  possible  to  fallen  man. 
Chartres  or  Rheims  or  Westminster  in  the  four- 
teenth century  during  a pontifical  mass  was 
undoubtedly  the  greatest  and  most  comprehen- 
sive work  of  art  the  mind  can  conceive  or  the 
intelligence  bring  into  being. 

This  organic  quality  on  which  I have  laid  so 
much  stress,  not  only  because  of  its  essential 
importance,  but  also  because  it  is  the  very  qual- 
ity most  lacking  today,  was  determined  and 
assured  in  the  twelfth  century.  The  thirteenth 
was  devoted  to  perfecting  this  to  the  highest 
possible  point  and  to  infusing  the  result  with  the 
spiritual  elements  of  beauty  and  of  emotional 
stimulus.  In  this  the  artists  of  the  time  were 
following  a natural  parallelism  with  such  other 
commanding  artists  as  Homer,  Plato,  Shakes- 

usi 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


peare,  Michelangelo,  all  of  whom  found  their 
enduring  glory,  less  through  original  discovery 
and  creation,  than  through  their  power  of  gather- 
ing up  all  the  work  of  their  forbears  and  breath- 
ing into  it  the  breath  of  life. 

This  great  work  of  organic  development  may 
be  seen  to  perfection  in  the  Cathedral  of  Our 
Lady  of  Paris,  and  it  is  progressive  from  east  to 
west.  The  choir  was  begun  in  1163,  the  west 
front  completed  in  1235,  and  in  these  seventy 
years  all  the  promise  of  Jumieges  was  fulfilled  in 
more  than  abundant  measure.  From  east  to 
west  there  is  a steady  growth  in  certainty  of 
touch,  in  structural  articulation  and  integrity, 
and  in  the  development  of  the  sense  of  pure 
beauty.  The  plan  is  of  the  simplest — only  a 
parallelogram  with  one  semicircular  termination, 
divided  into  five  aisles,  the  middle  one  being 
twice  the  width  of  the  others,  with  all  the  load 
concentrated  on  points  distributed  with  almost 
the  accuracy  of  an  engineer.  The  interior  order 
— i.e.,  arcade,  triforium,  and  clerestory — holds 
still  by  the  somewhat  dull  mechanism  of  early 
Norman  work,  and  the  three  elements  are  too 
nearly  alike  in  vertical  height  for  a result  either 
beautiful  or  structurally  significant.  It  lacks 
rhythm  and  subtlety  of  composition.  The  shaft- 
scheme  of  such  transitional  work  as  Noyon  holds 

[46] 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


here,  with  cylindrical  columns  in  the  arcade  sup- 
porting multiple  shafts  above,  the  vaulting  shaft 
resting  directly  on  the  capital  of  the  arcade 
column — an  inorganic  device  much  admired  by 
Gothic  theorists  of  the  nineteenth  century.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  little  Lombard  round  win- 
dow has  blossomed  into  the  “Mystic  Rose,” 
which  here  approaches  sublimity,  and  is  used  as 
the  central  feature  of  the  terminations  of  nave 
and  transepts.  The  whole  nave  is  full  of  trials, 
experiments,  changes,  hurriedly  adopted  and 
half  completed,  and  the  exterior  is  marked  by 
the  same  absorbing  personality.  In  the  chevet, 
for  example,  the  mad  and  unbeautiful  flying 
buttresses  are  not  original;  for  at  first  the  sys- 
tem was  the  subsequently  standard  type — two 
flights  of  arches,  each  properly  grounded  through 
pillar  or  wall-buttress.  After  a disastrous  con- 
flagration, however,  some  genius  with  a daring 
disproportionate  to  his  discretion  conceived  the 
idea  of  covering  both  aisles  with  one  enormous 
span.  The  result  never  commended  itself,  how- 
ever, and  is  almost  unique,  but  it  shows  at  the 
same  time  the  nemesis  of  structural  pride  that 
in  the  end,  at  Beauvais,  was  to  close  the  history 
and  the  power  over  beauty  of  detail  that  was 
not  mitigated  by  structural  indiscretions;  for 
the  design  of  the  buttress  pinnacles  of  these 

[47] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


Brobdingnagian  arches  is  perhaps  the  most 
beautiful  single  thing  in  Gothic  architecture. 
As  for  the  west  front,  it  ever  remains  the  great 
classical  achievement  of  the  Middle  Ages,  the 
most  superbly  conceived  work  of  architecture 
that  has  ever  issued  from  the  hand  of  man  in 
any  place  or  at  any  time.  It  has  no  rival  in  the 
past,  and  none  is  conceivable  for  the  future. 

Laon  was  more  or  less  contemporary  with 
Paris,  later  if  anything;  but  it  is  as  different  as 
may  be.  Where  Paris  is  calm,  serene,  simple, 
Laon  is  nervous,  complex,  almost  fantastic.  For 
Paris  two  vast  towers  were  enough,  for  Laon 
seven  could  hardly  suffice.  The  whole  work  is 
tentative,  vacillating,  romantic,  and,  it  must  be 
confessed,  inferior.  Only  in  its  conception  and 
composition,  however;  in  detail  it  is  faultless, 
and  one  realizes  here  how,  whatever  the  vagaries 
of  the  master-mason,  the  great  body  of  artificers 
were  always  on  hand  to  redeem  primary  mistakes 
by  their  conservative  and  assured  taste  and 
sense  of  beauty — a condition  of  things  that 
in  a sense  marks  the  length  of  road  we  have 
traveled  since  then. 

With  Chartres,  Bourges,  and  Rheims  we  come 
to  a trinity  of  masterpieces  that  group  themselves 
around  the  crowning  years  of  Catholic  civiliza- 
tion and  are  its  sufficient  expression  and — if  this 

[48] 


NOTRE  DAME,  PARIS  (Plate  X from  V Art  gothique  en  France) 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


were  needed — -justification.  Chartres  dates  in 
the  main  from  1194,  when  it  was  begun  anew 
after  a fire  that  destroyed  all  but  the  crypt  and 
the  west  front,  to  1260,  when  it  was  consecrated. 
In  plan  it  is  perhaps  the  noblest  of  all  Gothic 
churches,  while  its  interior,  in  point  of  organism, 
proportion,  relation  of  parts,  articulation,  has 
few  rivals.  It  is,  I believe,  the  most  perfect 
religious  interior  man  has  produced,  as  Paris 
is  the  greatest  exterior,  so  far  as  its  facade  is 
concerned. 

Bourges  was  begun  in  the  same  year  with 
Chartres  and  its  essential  organism  then  deter- 
mined, though  the  west  bays  of  the  nave  were 
not  completed  until  the  very  end  of  the  thir- 
teenth century.  Its  plan  is  wholly  different 
from  those  of  Paris,  Laon,  and  Chartres  (for 
there  was  then  no  copying  of  one  master-builder 
by  another)  and  its  interior  organism  is  quite 
original.  It  has  no  transepts  and  therefore  no 
crossing,  while  its  arcade  is  twice  as  lofty  in 
proportion  as  the  arcades  of  its  sister-churches. 
It  is  the  most  aspiring  and  romantic  of  all  and 
in  some  respects  is  the  most  brilliant  in  its 
artistic  invention. 

Rheims  began  to  rise  from  its  ashes  in  the  year 
1 21 1,  just  when  the  savage  tribes  of  Prussia  began 
to  yield  to  Christian  missionaries — the  last  of  the 

[49] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


heathen  races  of  North  Europe  to  accept  Chris- 
tianity for  a time — later  to  overwhelm  in  the 
red  ruin  of  shell  and  flame  the  great  church 
that  in  its  building  marked  the  moment  of 
their  evanescent  conversion.  The  west  front,  to 
the  base  of  the  upper  story  of  the  towers,  was 
finished  with  the  close  of  the  century.  In  plan, 
in  exterior  and  interior  organism,  in  detail,  and  in 
sculpture,  Rheims  was  the  perfected  work  of  the 
Catholic  civilization  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Every 
other  building  shows  here  and  there  experiment, 
uncertainty,  an  almost  nervous  reaching  out  of 
its  creators  toward  a dim  ideal  that  was  yet  the 
one  reality.  Of  this  there  was  nothing  in  Rheims. 
It  was  the  work  of  a master  so  supreme  in  his 
artistry  that  he  laid  hold  on  perfection  where 
his  followers  struggled  toward  it.  I am  not 
sure  that  this  perfect  attainment  raised  it 
very  far  above  Chartres  or  Bourges  or  Cou- 
tances.  Final  it  was,  in  conception  and  in 
every  minutest  part,  but  to  me  there  is  some- 
thing in  the  tremulous  daring  of  Bourges,  in  the 
unsatisfied  but  eager  desire  of  Paris,  in  the  rapt 
faith  and  awestruck  groping  for  the  hand  of  God 
in  Chartres,  that  appeals  with  a poignancy  that 
in  Rheims  yields  to  dumb  reverence  for  final  and 
almost  superhuman  achievement.  After  all,  man 
is  the  creature  that  tries > and  in  the  striving  for 

[50] 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


perfection  we  do  not  look  for  success;  we  resent 
it,  in  a sense,  when  one  approaches  it  too  closely. 
The  great  churches  of  the  thirteenth  century 
tried,  as  man  tries,  to  achieve  the  unattainable, 
and  in  their  failure  they  are  sublime.  One 
achieved,  or  almost  achieved — Rheims — and, 
while  we  gave  it  the  tribute  of  awed  veneration, 
our  hearts  went  first  to  the  more  human  monu- 
ments of  men,  rather  than  of  demigods.  Rheims 
almost  achieved  the  unattainable;  its  martyrdom 
has  completed  what  its  makers  just  failed  of 
attaining,  and  for  the  future  in  the  hearts  of 
this  and  every  succeeding  generation,  in  saecula 
saeculorum , it  will  stand  first  in  mind  and  in  heart 
as  the  perfect  work  of  man  when  he  wrought  in 
the  fear  of  God. 

Ten  years  after  the  beginning  of  Rheims  the 
first  stones  were  laid  of  Amiens,  which  progressed 
slowly  through  the  century,  the  west  towers 
being  finished  in  the  last  quarter  of  the  four- 
teenth century.  Wonderful  as  the  church  is, 
with  its  perfectly  developed  chevet  and  dizzy 
nave,  its  exquisite  carvings,  and  its  masterly 
sculptures,  it  is  the  first  evidence  of  the  swerving 
of  the  thirteenth-century  builders  toward  self- 
confident  science  and  away  from  a purer  artistic 
impulse.  It  is  too  competent,  too  perfect  in  its 
balancing  of  thrusts,  in  its  concentration  of  loads, 

[5i] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


in  the  sumptuous  decorations  of  its  west  front. 
It  is  true  that  it  suffers  bitterly  from  lack  of  the 
glass  that  glorifies  Chartres  and  Bourges,  and 
once  was  the  crown  of  Rheims,  but  even  this 
could  not  quite  have  blinded  one  to  the  conscious- 
ness that  constructive  intelligence  was  beginning 
to  take  the  place  of  aspiration  and  inspiration, 
of  joy  in  design  and  mastery  of  workmanship, 
of  the  divine  ardor  that  lifted  the  tall  arches  of 
Bourges  and  made  of  the  porches  of  Chartres 
and  of  the  doors  of  Rheims  masterpieces  equaled 
only,  if  at  all,  on  the  Athenian  Acropolis. 

The  choir  of  Le  Mans  is  contemporary  with 
Amiens  and  has  the  same  merits  and  the  same 
defects,  at  once  the  most  ingenious  and  highly 
articulated  in  its  chevet  construction,  and 
touched  everywhere  with  the  too  perfect  accom- 
plishment of  the  structural  engineer.  Ten  years 
after  Amiens  the  choir  of  Beauvais  was  begun, 
and  this  was  finished,  with  the  crossing  and  spire, 
in  1274.  Man  already  had  accomplished  more 
than  he  could  rightly  claim  for  his  own.  Here  he 
tried  for  still  more  and  failed;  for  twelve  years 
later  the  spire  and  vault,  which  had  been  raised 
higher  than  Amiens  and  on  more  slender  sup- 
ports, fell  in  ruins,  and  though  the  choir  was  later 
rebuilt,  with  added  reinforcements,  the  crossing 
tower  was  never  reconstructed.  The  tran- 

[52] 


LAON  CATHEDRAL— WEST  FRONT 


) 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


septs  were  built  in  the  fifteenth  century,  and 
beautiful  as  they  are,  it  is  the  beauty  of  the  artist 
in  ornament,  not  of  the  creator  of  an  almost 
living  organism,  such  as  Chartres  or  Rheims. 

With  the  close  of  the  thirteenth  century  all 
the  great  work  had  been  accomplished  in  France, 
where  it  had  begun  two  centuries  before.  In 
the  end  man  strove  to  attain  by  reason  what  is 
granted  only  to  faith  and  prayer,  and,  as  always 
happens  in  such  circumstances,  disaster  followed 
close.  After  this  only  two  things  were  possible: 
the  freezing  of  tradition  into  that  cold  mastery 
that  produced  such  correct  and  imposing  monu- 
ments as  St.  Ouen  and  Cologne,  or  the  wandering 
off  into  the  wilderness  of  exuberant  fancy  and 
lawless  fantasticism  from  which  emerged  the 
sumptuous  front  of  Rouen  and  the  impossible 
jewel-work  of  Brou. 

I have  taken  a few  churches  from  France  alone 
to  use  as  examples  of  the  perfection  of  Catholic 
art.  Of  course  the  result  is  partial  only,  but  it 
is  impossible  to  concentrate  in  an  hour  the 
products  of  the  two  greatest  centuries  in  history 
and  to  give  some  hints  as  well  of  the  vital 
impulse  that  brought  them  into  existence.  One 
cannot  know  Gothic  art  as  a whole  without 
full  regard  for  its  manifestations  in  Great 
Britain — or  Spain,  or  Flanders,  or  the  upper 

[53] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


Rhine,  for  that  matter — for  this  art  was  one; 
it  reached  from  the  Mediterranean  to  the 
Firth  of  Forth,  and  from  the  Danube  to  the 
Atlantic.  There  is  no  justification  for  those 
who  see  in  it  only  certain  new  and  con- 
summate structural  inventions  and  devices  and 
so  try  to  confine  the  name  to  masonry  struc- 
tures covered  by  ribbed  and  pointed  vaults,  or 
to  those  where  the  system  of  balanced  thrusts 
is  perfectly  adhered  to.  Gothic  is  a spirit,  as 
well  as  a mode — more  than  a mode — the  spirit 
of  a triumphant  and  universal  Catholic  culture; 
and  you  can  make  of  it  no  less,  as  you  cannot 
make  of  it  more. 

In  Great  Britain  this  culture  was  peculiarly 
deep  and  compelling,  and  its  art  therefore  is  of 
the  noblest  order,  from  Glastonbury  through  the 
whole  wonderful  sequence  of  Salisbury,  West- 
minster, Lincoln,  York  Abbey,  Guisborough, 
Gloucester,  and  the  chapel  of  Henry  VII,  where 
it  ends  at  last  as  French  Gothic  ended  in  Rouen 
and  the  transepts  of  Beauvais.  In  France  the 
work  was  episcopal,  communal,  and  secular;  in 
England  it  was  largely — and  the  best  of  it — 
monastic,  which  gives  it  a quality  all  its  own  and 
invaluable  in  its  record  of  the  nature  and  the 
influence  of  this  greatest  of  mediaeval  agencies 
for  the  spreading  of  culture  and  civilization.  In 

[54] 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


France,  again,  the  triumphant  work  is  that  of  the 
vast  communal  cathedrals;  in  England  it  is  not 
only  of  the  almost  equally  vast  abbeys,  it  is 
even  more  especially  of  the  myriad  little  parish 
churches  which  developed  a character  and  a 
personality  peculiar  to  themselves,  equaled  no- 
where else,  and  as  perfect  in  their  way  as  the 
overwhelming  glory  and  majesty  of  Bourges  or 
Notre  Dame. 

France  and  England  are  the  two  great  centers 
of  mediaeval  art  expression,  and  France  and 
England  were  the  two  countries  where  mediaeval 
culture  reached  its  point  of  perfect  development. 
In  almost  every  other  part  of  Europe  we  find, 
however,  Gothic  architecture,  and  in  certain 
directions,  as  in  painting,  greater  results  than 
were  achieved  among  Franks  and  Anglo-Saxons. 
There  is  a very  noble  early  Gothic  in  Spain,  and 
there  also,  and  in  Flanders,  Italy,  and  the  Rhine- 
land, an  art  of  later  mediaevalism  that  is  ex- 
quisitely beautiful  in  its  combination  of  delicacy 
and  opulent  fancy.  In  every  case  it  is  tinged 
with  a strong  and  vital  nationalism,  differen- 
tiating itself  from  the  art  of  every  other  land, 
yet  invariably  true  in  essentials  and  in  spirit  to 
the  great  unity  that,  in  spite  of  minor  wars  and 
rivalries,  bound  Europe  together  as  never  before 
or  since. 


[55] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


From  the  beginning  of  the  fourteenth  century 
signs  of  decline  showed  themselves  in  architec- 
ture, but  in  all  the  other  arts  the  advance  was 
almost  feverish  in  its  intensity,  particularly  in 
poetry  and  painting  and  letters;  and  even  in  the 
failing  architecture  the  loss  was  recorded  rather 
in  the  great  cathedrals  and  churches  than  in  the 
minor  productions  of  castles  and  civic  halls  and 
dwellings.  Until  a few  months  ago  eastern 
France  and  Belgium  were  glorious  with  the 
splendid  works  of  a culture  still  dominant  in  the 
fifteenth  and  sixteenth  centuries,  though  now 
they  are  embers  and  ashes,  after  having  been 
granted  immunity  by  the  contending  armies  of 
three  centuries. 

And  this  art  continued  in  all  its  manifold 
phases  until  the  Reformation,  when,  the  impulse 
that  had  lasted  for  fifteen  generations  being 
withdrawn,  it  ceased  almost  in  a day,  and, 
except  in  music  and  poetry — and  spasmodically 
in  painting — has  never  been  restored,  though  five 
other  centuries  have  passed,  clamorous  for  art, 
insistent  in  its  practice,  ignorant  of  how  it  was 
to  be  attained. 

If  we  look  for  the  secret  of  this  strange  and 
compelling  art,  we  find  it  (as  I have  tried  to  show) 
in  the  unique  culture  of  the  time,  which  was  the 
result  of  a triumphant  and  universally  accepted 

[56] 


BEAUVAIS  CATHEDRAL— SOUTH  TRANSEPT 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


religious  faith,  a philosophy  that  supplemented 
instead  of  denying  it,  a just  estimate  of  com- 
parative values  (strikingly  unlike  our  own), 
and  an  industrial  and  economic  system  that 
may  have  lacked  the  earmarks  of  what  we  are 
pleased  to  call  civilization,  but  produced  fruits 
of  character  which  the  latter  sometimes  fails  to 
reveal. 

There  was,  we  must  always  remember,  but 
one  faith  and  one  Church,  and  these  were  not, 
as  now,  divided  into  an  hundred  inimical  camps 
and  accepted  as  accessories  to  a dominating  life 
constituted  on  lines  essentially  antagonistic. 
Religion  was  the  prime  consideration,  the  one 
great  reality,  the  personal  possession  of  every 
man,  and  the  Church  was  the  concrete  fact  that 
made  religion  operative.  Everywhere  was  a 
perfectly  organized  monasticism,  more  perva- 
sive even  than  the  secular  priesthood,  and  every 
monastery  was  a center  of  culture,  of  education, 
and  of  order.  With  a very  remarkable  com- 
munal spirit  went  equal  individuality,  liberty, 
and  independence.  Capitalism  was  unknown, 
labor  controlled  its  own  destinies  as  it  never  has 
succeeded  in  doing  since,  and  the  guild  system 
produced  a condition  of  industrial  vigor  and 
efficiency  that  guaranteed  a great  measure  of 
justice. 


[57] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


It  would  be  impossible  to  exaggerate  the  im- 
portance of  the  guild  system  in  connection  with 
the  quality  of  the  work  produced.  The  Greek 
workmen  were  slaves  under  a group  of  highly 
specialized  experts;  the  Romans,  slaves  also, 
subject  to  the  orders  Sf  a superior  type  of  freed- 
men  who  were  employed  by  their  masters  as 
we  employ  milliners  and  decorators;  the  me- 
diaeval artificers  were  free  citizens  strengthened 
by  co-operative  association,  and  each  man  was 
in  himself  an  artist,  granted  the  independence 
of  action  due  to  such,  and  working  under  a power- 
fully fostered  impulse  of  emulation  that  is  the 
particular  bete  noire  of  the  trade  unions  of  today. 
There  was  no  such  thing  as  an  architect,  superior 
and  supreme.  An  architect,  as  we  count  him 
today,  is  a sign  of  inferior  culture,  necessary  but 
regrettable.  There  were  master-workmen  then, 
but  each  was  simply  primus  inter  pares , inspiring 
and  co-ordinating,  but  leaving  to  his  fellows 
their  just  share  in  invention  and  their  free  field 
for  creative  effort  and  aesthetic  expression. 

Behind  the  vitalizing  power  of  religion  and  the 
stimulus  of  free  expression  lay  certain  immemo- 
rial traditions  that  undoubtedly  reached  back 
through  the  mysterious  Comacini,  with  their 
traditions  of  symbolism  and  of  mystic  significa- 
tion in  numbers  and  forms  and  their  relations, 

[58] 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


together  with  those  that  controlled  the  variations, 
irregularities,  and  refinements  in  the  plan  and  in 
the  vertical  elements  of  a building.  This  whole 
question  of  symbolism  and  structural  refine- 
ments is  as  baffling  as  it  is  fascinating.  There 
is  no  longer  room  for  questioning  the  existence 
of  these  things,  and  we  owe  much  to  the  persis- 
tent investigations  of  Professor  Goodyear,  which 
have  finally  demonstrated  the  premeditated 
quality  of  the  universal  irregularities  that  reveal 
themselves  in  all  the  best  of  the  buildings  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  The  rationale  of  this  strange 
subtlety  is  still  to  be  found,  but  the  thing  itself 
is  there,  and  it  possibly  reaches  back  through 
different  races  and  nationalities  at  least  to  the 
time  of  the  building  of  the  Temple  in  Jerusalem, 
and  it  is  as  certainly  one  of  the  great  elements 
in  the  perfect  beauty  of  mediaeval  work. 

To  this  ancient  and  almost  prehistoric  form 
of  tradition  was  added  all  the  peculiar  quality 
that  grew  out  of  the  religion  of  Christianity, 
and  while  we  need  not  accept  the  mystical  and 
exaggerated  theories  of  Huysmans,  we  must 
admit  that  there  is  in  all  mediaeval  work  a great 
mystery  of  symbolism  and  structural  refinement, 
of  which  we  ourselves  know  nothing;  for  with 
the  coming  in  of  capitalism  after  the  close  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  the  workman  and  craftsman 

[59] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


became  slaves  again,  the  secrets  all  were  lost,  the 
sequence  of  tradition  destroyed,  and  we  are  now 
left  naked  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  architect, 
the  general  contractor,  and  unionized  labor. 

I have  already  ^spoken  of  the  contributory 
part  played  by  all  the  other  arts  in  the  great 
result,  of  the  revitalized  old  arts  of  sculpture 
and  painting  and  music,  of  the  new  arts,  such  as 
stained  glass.  In  point  of  fact,  it  is  wrong  to  use 
the  word  “contributory for  it  was  not  a case 
of  many  arts  united  to  one  end,  it  was  rather 
one  art , as  one  and  indivisible  as  the  Catholic 
religion  and  the  Catholic  Church,  expressing 
itself  in  many  ways  and  through  different  types 
of  artists.  With  the  Renaissance  this  unity  was 
broken,  art  split  up  into  as  many  followings  as 
there  were  theological  heresies  during  the  Ref- 
ormation, and  no  steps  have  been  taken  toward 
restoring  that  unity  again.  Art  today  is  in  the 
condition  of  Germany  after  the  break-up  of  the 
Empire,  a hundred  little  piffling  states,  none 
knowing  where  it  was  or  what  it  existed  for,  and 
with  no  co-ordination  and  no  sense  of  unity.  As 
there,  at  times,  through  the  whim  of  fate,  some 
margrave  or  grand  duke  or  elector  was  born 
greater  than  his  kind,  who  gave  for  a moment  a 
sudden  splendor  to  his  little  state,  so  now,  in 
any  one  of  the  arts,  may  arise,  and  does  arise,  a 

[60] 


LINCOLN  CATHEDRAL— EAST  ENP 


/ 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


genius  who  spreads  a temporary  glory  on  his 
little  art,  as  Wagner  or  Browning  or  Richardson 
or  St.  Gaudens  or  Sargent;  but  each  passes,  and 
his  art  returns  again  to  its  normal  level  of 
mediocrity  and  general  aimlessness. 

Is  there  any  possibility  of  recovery,  of  the 
finding  again  of  the  great  aim  that  restores  the 
vitalizing  spirit,  that  unites  art  once  more  with 
many  methods  but  one  end  ? The  art  we  have 
been  considering  gives  the  answer,  the  conditions 
now  existing  for  half  a year  the  opportunity. 
Civilization,  our  civilization,  without  culture  and 
without  any  adequate  sense  of  comparative 
values,  has  broken  down  in  universal  and  cata- 
clysmic war.  It  is  no  war  of  wilful  kings  or 
conscienceless  diplomatists;  it  is  no  war  without 
excuse  and  without  reason  for  existence.  Inevit- 
able, unescapable,  it  involves  the  world  with  the 
grim  fatalism  that  brought  the  universal  Empire 
of  Rome  to  its  most  timely  end.  When  the  cul- 
ture of  the  Middle  Ages  was  overwhelmed  by  the 
civilization  of  the  Renaissance,  certain  tendencies 
were  initiated  that  were  bound  to  work  them- 
selves out  to  their  logical  conclusion.  They  have 
done  so,  and  the  perfect  climax  reveals  itself 
in  that  region  of  Europe,  and  under  the  di- 
rection of  that  people,  which  last  of  all  sur- 
rendered its  heathenism  to  Christianity,  but  too 

[61] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


late  to  acquire  the  everlasting  benefits  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  On  all  the  nations  of  the  earth 
has  come  a great  fear,  for  they  see  now  what 
they  themselves  have  made,  and  the  evil  and 
dark  wrong  it  has  produced.  This  is  the  great 
war  between  civilization  and  culture,  between — 
as  has  been  said — Corsica  and  Galilee,  between 
the  triumphant  Renaissance-Reformation  and 
a recrudescent  mediaevalism. 

Where  the  victory  will  rest  is  no  question  for 
argument;  the  answer  is  foreordained.  Already 
the  great  and  efficient  system  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion has  over-passed  its  term  and  it  must  yield 
to  something  older  and  better,  to  that  opposing 
culture  which  is  the  everlasting  enemy  of  Kultur , 
a culture  made  up  of  that  religion  which  is  true 
because  it  is  revealed  by  God,  that  philosophy 
which  supplements  religion  instead  of  denying  it 
and  adapts  its  spiritual  and  mystical  content  to 
the  limited  and  finite  human  intelligence,  that 
art  which  is  the  harmonizing  of  both  and  their 
perfect  and  divinely  ordained  expression. 

The  new-found  art  of  mediaevalism  has  re- 
vealed to  the  world  the  possibilities  and  the 
significance  of  art  at  its  highest;  it  has  led  us 
back  to  the  discovery  of  the  comprehensive, 
stimulating,  and  character-building  culture  be- 
hind it.  Through  these  things  we  can  gain  an 

[62] 


CULMINATION  OF  GOTHIC  ART 


answer  to  the  appalling  question  forced  on  us  by 
the  Great  War,  seeing  now  the  true  nature  of  the 
civilization  that  could  have  issue  in  such  a thing 
as  this,  realizing  where,  in  spite  of  official  “pa- 
pers” of  whatever  color,  right  rests,  and  wrong, 
and  finally  realizing  the  lines  on  which,  once  the 
purging  of  the  world  is  over,  the  new  era  must 
be  built  if  the  beneficent  and  regenerating  cul- 
ture of  true  religion,  sound  philosophy,  and  vital 
art  is  to  return  to  a wasted  but  repentant  and 
regenerate  world. 

The  study  of  mediaeval  art  and  mediaeval 
culture  is  not,  at  this  time,  a trivial  playing  with 
archaeology.  It  is  the  finding  of  the  answer  to 
the  great  question  propounded  by  a world  at  war. 


[63] 


PRINCIPLES  OF  ARCHITECTURAL 
COMPOSITION 

and 

MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


BY 

THOMAS  HASTINGS 


Ill 


PRINCIPLES  OF  ARCHITECTURAL 
COMPOSITION 

Composition  is  not  a subject  for  systematic 
analysis.  We  may  learn  about  it  in  the  lecture- 
room  and  by  reading  books,  but  in  this  way  we 
can  never  acquire  the  art  of  composing.  As  in 
the  case  of  the  painter  or  sculptor,  the  architect 
must  be  apprenticed.  Mere  work  never  made 
an  artist;  a great  work  was  never  produced 
without  great  working.  A man  can  never  be  a 
great  artist  without  great  industry.  The  extraor- 
dinary amount  of  work  done,  and  well  done, 
by  the  great  masters  in  art — work  which  has 
survived — is  incomprehensible  to  the  modern 
artist.  A man  may  think  that  he  must  wait  for 
a so-called  inspiration;  but  the  real  artist  will 
find  something  to  do  for  every  hour  and  leave 
inspiration  to  take  care  of  itself.  Inspiration 
will  come  oftener,  and  with  greater  power,  when 
the  artist  works  without  waiting  for  it. 

Let  us  undertake  less  and  work  more.  The 
mere  direction  of  a number  of  draughtsmen  to 
do  our  work  for  us  is  not  art.  As  soon  as  the 
architect  gives  up  the  T-square  and  triangle  and 

[67] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


only  directs  others,  he  no  longer  advances,  but 
retrogrades  by  this  method  of  trying  to  manu- 
facture architectural  designs.  Nor  is  it  honest 
for  an  architect  to  pretend  to  be  the  author  of 
work  that  others  are  doing  for  him,  any  more 
than  it  would  be  for  a painter,  a sculptor,  or  a 
writer  to  take  credit  for  work  he  has  not  done. 

There  are  many  principles  upon  which  the 
architect  works  and  many  laws  which  guide  him 
in  his  study  which  it  would  be  impossible  to 
formulate,  because  he  knows  them  intuitively. 
There  are  many  vital  things  in  the  art  of  composi- 
tion, just  as  there  are  in  our  everyday  life,  which 
are  none  the  less  true  because  we  know  them  by 
intuition.  The  fact  that  we  cannot  formulate 
these  things  does  not  make  them  in  any  sense 
the  less  real.  It  is  also  just  as  true  that  there 
are  many  things  in  art  which  can  be  learned 
only  by  instruction  and  in  which  it  will  not  do 
to  trust  to  intuition.  A proper  instruction  in 
these  things  will  quicken  and  develop  the 
intuition. 

The  most  difficult  thing  in  composition  (and  I 
believe  this  to  be  true  of  all  art)  is  to  know  how 
to  be  simple,  but  to  be  simple  without  being 
stupid  and  colorless;  to  be  firm  and  strong  with- 
out being  hard  and  angular;  to  have  good  detail, 
which,  on  the  one  hand,  does  not  assert  itself  to 

[68] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


the  injury  of  the  ensemble,  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  not  timid  for  fear  of  a want  of  refine- 
ment. When  a man  has  acquired  a certain 
knowledge  of  his  art,  timidity  is  almost  as  bad 
as  vulgarity  and  weakness  as  unpardonable  as 
coarseness. 

The  highest  logic  in  art  is  truth.  It  is  neither 
logical  nor  true  to  have  a great  auditorium  or 
principal  room  running  through  three  or  four 
stories  of  a building  without  some  indication  of 
it  in  the  fagade.  If  you  are  anxious  to  introduce 
into  a composition  a tower,  a dome,  or  even  an 
insignificant  feature  where  the  practical  condi- 
tions imposed  upon  you  will  not  allow  you  to 
expose  such  a motive  in  plan,  do  not  build  the 
motive,  but  do  something  else  rather  than  resort 
to  deceit  or  constructive  trickery.  If  we  only 
knew  how  to  compose,  the  more  variety  offered  us 
in  the  conditions  imposed  the  more  interesting 
would  it  be  to  look  for  the  artistic  solution  of  the 
problem.  It  is  right  to  be  logical;  but  a work  of 
art  was  never  beautiful  solely  because  logical. 
There  is  no  one  who  does  more  harm  than  the 
mere  purist  who  worships  what  he  thinks  logic, 
but  what  is  only  prejudice,  while  he  is  blind  to 
the  fact  that  he  is  admiring  and  encouraging 
falsehood  and  vice  in  art  and  trampling  truth 
under  foot. 


[69] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


The  more  fertile  the  imagination  of  the  com- 
poser the  more  carefully  should  he  train  his 
judgment,  so  that  he  will  know  what  does  not 
look  well  in  his  own  work  with  as  much  facility 
and  readiness  as  he  would  know  what  does  not 
look  well  in  the  work  of  those  associated  with 
him.  He  must  be  his  own  impartial  judge.  A 
bad  idea  suppressed  is  a triumph  for  the  good. 

There  seem  to  be  two  mistaken  tendencies  in 
our  American  methods  of  architectural  education. 
The  one  class  of  men  with  whom  we  have  to 
contend  includes  those  who  would  dispense  with 
the  triangle,  compass,  and  T-square,  and  with 
such  familiarity  with  the  orders  and  the  prin- 
ciples of  composition  as  will  enable  the  student 
to  use  them  with  the  utmost  facility.  They 
neglect  these  things,  forsooth,  to  make  room  for 
what  they  call  clever  sketching.  These  men  seem 
to  have  a peculiar  disdain  for  the  legitimate 
means  of  study,  as  though  they  were  inartistic. 
The  other  class  of  men  includes  the  pretended 
“ savants”  who  would  learn  their  profession  as 
though  a good  knowledge  of  the  history  and 
literature  of  their  art,  with  a course  of  general 
lectures,  were  all-sufficient,  if  followed  by  a few 
years  of  practical  office  experience. 

To  these  so-called  “savants,”  or  the  men  who 
would  teach  architecture  only  in  scientific  or 

[70] 


GIRALDA  TOWER  AND  CATHEDRAL,  SEVILLE 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


literary  ways,  it  should  be  said  that  architecture 
is  an  art  rather  than  a science,  and  that  when 
the  architect  is  most  skilled  in  his  art  he  has 
least  need  of  recourse  to  science.  Of  course,  an 
architect  must  be  familiar  with  descriptive 
mathematics  for  the  purpose  of  calculating  the 
intersection  of  vaults  and  roof,  and  for  various 
problems  in  stereoptomy;  but  if  the  floor-plan 
has  been  well  studied  from  an  artistic  or  aesthetic 
point  of  view,  there  will  rarely  be  left  other  diffi- 
cult engineering  and  mathematical  problems  for 
the  architect  to  solve.  Here  is  the  key  to  the 
entire  problem. 

All  good  composition  begins  with  the  thorough 
study  of  the  plan.  Few  seem  to  realize  that  the 
floor-plan  is  anything  more  than  a mere  matter 
of  the  convenient  arrangement  of  the  several 
parts  of  the  building.  A good  floor-plan,  as  seen 
on  paper,  has  proportion,  form,  scale,  color, 
values,  and  character;  or  it  may  be  clumsy  and 
inelegant.  It  determines  the  relation  to  each 
other  of  two  of  the  three  dimensions  in  space. 
It  involves  and  determines  the  entire  composi- 
tion; the  silhouette  or  outline  of  the  whole 
structure  is  really  projected  on  the  plane  of  this 
drawing. 

Not  only  does  the  silhouette  or  outline  of  the 
elevation  in  every  sense  depend  upon  the  plan, 

[7i] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


but  the  best  kind  of  perspective  of  it  is  here  im- 
plied, because  we  can  see  therein  the  position  and 
relative  size  of  the  different  parts.  When  the 
plan  is  well  studied,  then  it  constructs  well, 
builds  well,  and  we  need  very  little  of  analytical 
mathematics  to  assist  us  in  our  construction. 

Until  modern  times,  how  much  mathematics 
besides  geometry  and  the  descriptives  did  archi- 
tects know,  as  compared  with  what  we  are  given 
to  learn,  and  what  did  they  know  of  the  strength 
of  materials  ? With  them  it  was  mostly  a ques- 
tion of  good  judgment  with  a proper  and  uncom- 
mon understanding  of  constructive  principles  and 
of  stereoptomy,  and  the  other  descriptive  mathe- 
matics. Analytical  mathematics  is  comparatively 
a modern  science.  While  there  existed  graphical 
rules  for  the  approximate  determination  of  the 
thrusts  from  arches  as  early  as  the  thirteenth 
century,  yet  it  practically  is  only  in  the  past 
fifty  years  that  the  correct  principles  of  construc- 
tive analysis  have  been  fully  developed;  and 
there  is  still  room  for  improvement  in  this 
direction.  Until  recently  architects  probably 
never  calculated  the  strength  of  their  materials 
or  the  thrust  of  arches  and  vaults.  With  them 
it  was  a question  of  intelligence,  and  not  of 
ingenuity.  It  was  the  qualitative  rather  than 
the  quantitative  principles  of  construction  that 

[72] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


they  studied,  and  these  were  always  based  upon 
experiment  or  experience.  It  was  by  knowing 
how  to  avoid  difficult  problems,  with  art  in  the 
floor-plan,  that  they  escaped  having  difficult 
analytical  problems  to  solve.  We  must  always 
give  precedence  to  practice  before  laws  and 
theories. 

If  you  were  to  show  me  a well-studied  plan 
for  the  first  time,  I should  not  hesitate  to  say 
because  of  its  beautiful  proportions  and  the 
ability  of  its  design  that  there  is  absolutely  no 
necessity  of  calculating  the  thrusts  of  the  arches 
and  the  strength  of  materials,  excepting  for  the 
purpose  of  verification.  In  a well-studied  floor- 
plan  there  will  almost  always  be  artistic  reasons 
for  making  a pier  economical  in  size  and  strong 
enough  to  support  the  weight  that  it  has  to 
carry.  By  pure  mathematics  we  can  determine 
only  approximately  what  should  be  the  size  of  a 
pier.  The  strength  of  materials  must  be  esti- 
mated. We  select  at  random  several  specimens 
of  the  stone  to  be  used  in  our  building.  We 
obtain  crucial  tests  for  this  purpose,  and  so  we 
are  supposed  to  learn  from  these  few  specimens 
the  average  weight  per  cubic  inch  which  the 
stone  will  support.  This  we  call  our  coefficient 
of  strength  in  the  stone  chosen  for  our  building. 
Taking  into  account  the  fact  that  the  quarry 

[73] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


where  the  stone  is  obtained  may  have  a great 
fissure  running  through  it,  or  may  have  other 
imperfections,  the  mathematician  enters  upon 
his  calculations  to  learn  how  large  a pier  built 
of  this  stone  should  be  to  support  the  weight 
that  is  to  be  above  it.  After  this  the  architect 
practically  admits  the  inexactitude  of  his  prem- 
ises by  increasing  two  or  more  times  the  size  of 
the  pier,  and  calls  this  the  factor  of  safety  or 
ignorance.  I believe  in  such  calculations  for 
purposes  of  verification,  but,  in  general,  the  piers 
will  be  about  as  safe  to  build  upon  when  studied 
by  an  educated  architect  as  when  calculated  by 
engineers. 

It  is  really  architecture  and  well-proportioned 
masonry  versus  engineering  and  iron  girders. 
Each  has  its  use,  but  they  are  not  interchange- 
able. Buildings  have  stood  for  centuries  which 
were  constructed  without  a knowledge  of  modern 
engineering , solely  because  their  plans  as  seen  on 
paper  were  so  well  studied,  so  thoroughly  artistic 
and  beautiful,  that  constructive  difficulties  were 
avoided. 

Now  that  photographs  and  illustrated  books 
are  so  accessible  to  the  student,  copying  or 
adaptation  is  a greater  temptation  than  ever 
before.  We  compile  more  than  we  compose; 
but  if  our  plan  is  first  thoroughly  studied  to 

[74] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


meet  the  practical  requirements  of  the  problem 
in  hand,  then  when  interpreting  this  plan  and 
designing  the  facade  we  can  neither  copy  nor 
adapt.  Copying  destroys  progress  in  art  and  all 
spontaneity. 

So  long  as  a great  many  inartistic  buildings 
are  put  up,  the  mathematical  verification  is 
needed  for  the  protection  of  human  life.  Of 
course,  there  is  one  most  unfortunate  condition 
imposed  upon  us  in  these  days,  under  which 
condition  the  plan  has  but  a very  small  part  to 
play  in  the  solu  tion  of  the  problem — the  so-called 
skyscraper.  Here  all  would  agree  that  expert 
mathematicians  and  engineers  should  be  called 
in  consultation,  just  as  they  are  called  in  for 
questions  of  steam  heating,  ventilation,  or  elec- 
trical work.  But  even  here  great  economy  might 
obtain  if  with  art  the  plan  is  so  subdivided  as 
to  permit  of  a good  distribution  of  weights  and 
as  much  repetition  as  possible  in  the  lengths  of 
steel  beams  and  girders.  In  monumental  archi- 
tecture the  thicknesses  of  walls  and  piers  should 
be  proportionately  related  to  the  spans  of  the 
arches  or  to  the  distances  and  floor  spaces.  The 
thickness  of  a column  should  be  proportioned  to  the 
intercolumniation,  or  distance  between  columns. 

Do  not  misunderstand  me.  I would  not  dis- 
parage the  thorough  study  of  the  plan  from  a 

[75] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


utilitarian  point  of  view.  This  is,  in  fact,  the 
principal  channel  through  which  our  life  and 
habits  can  influence  our  composition  and  style. 
Before  beginning  to  study  the  general  composi- 
tion of  the  floor-plan,  it  is  first  necessary  to 
reduce  the  problem  to  its  simplest  form  from  a 
utilitarian  point  of  view,  taking  into  account 
the  number  of  the  principal  rooms  or  divisions 
and  the  use  to  which  they  are  to  be  put,  their 
sizes,  and  the  most  reasonable  form  that  should 
be  given  them.  This  is,  as  it  were,  the  theorem 
or  the  program  of  the  composition.  If  the  ques- 
tfon  of  disposition  is  not  thus  thoroughly  under- 
stood at  first,  it  will  arrest  the  freedom  of  the 
mind  and  the  imagination. 

When  a plan  has  been  well  studied,  then  in 
developing  the  exterior  or  interior  few  changes 
will  be  needed,  even  in  details.  In  the  further 
development  of  the  scheme  we  need  only  fill  our 
minds  and  hearts  with  the  spirit,  the  ideas,  and 
the  sentiments  of  our  age,  and  study  to  interpret 
the  plan,  in  order  to  reach  the  best  results. 

Of  equal  importance  is  the  question  of  the 
position  or  site  of  the  building  and  the  principal 
points  from  which  it  will  be  seen.  Certain  dis- 
tributions of  the  several  parts  of  the  building 
that  would  be  well  for  a low  and  flat  country 
would  be  inappropriate  for  a hill.  The  streets, 

[76] 


CATHEDRAL  AND  GIRALDA  TOWER,  SEVILLE 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


promenades,  or  squares,  or  possibly  water — 
river,  lake,  or  sea — should  of  necessity  have  a 
great  influence  upon  this  distribution.  The 
architect  should  know  how  to  dispose  his  masses 
and  should  calculate  upon  the  different  effects 
with  these  conditions  of  environment  taken  into 
account.  The  plan  which  does  not  satisfy  all 
such  given  conditions  is  not  only  impracticable, 
but  must  in  consequence  thereof  be  absolutely 
inartistic;  for  a good  building  must  have  obvious 
adaptation,  both  to  its  uses  and  to  its  environ- 
ment. A plan  has  what  we  call  good  circulation 
when  it  is  so  arranged  or  composed  that  there 
is  direct  and  easy  communication  between  its 
different  parts. 

In  general,  it  may  be  said  that  there  are  three 
kinds  of  floor-plans:  the  regular,  the  irregular, 
and  the  picturesque.  A monumental  floor-plan 
is  almost  always  regular,  unless  the  peculiarities 
of  the  site,  or  requirements,  make  this  impos- 
sible. The  regularity  consists  in  the  plan's  hav- 
ing one  principal  axe.  The  irregular  plan  is  an 
adaptation  to  the  imperatives  of  an  irregular 
site.  It  secures  as  much  symmetry  in  the  ar- 
rangement of  its  parts  and  proportions  as  the 
limitations  of  the  site  permit.  The  picturesque 
plan  is  not  merely  eccentric  or  lawless,  but  it 
is  an  attempt  to  conform  to  the  picturesque 

[77] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


conditions  of  the  environment — at  the  same  time 
preserving  as  much  of  symmetry  in  its  details  as 
such  adaptation  will  allow. 

For  the  sake  of  contrast  the  length  of  one 
room  is  ofttimes  at  right  angles  to  the  length  of 
another  room.  This  law  of  contrast  is  dominant 
in  all  art,  and  nowhere  is  the  recognition  of  this 
law  more  important  than  in  the  design  of  a floor- 
plan.  In  general,  the  distribution  of  the  rooms 
and  the  relation  they  bear  to  each  other,  also 
the  thickness  of  the  walls  and  the  way  they 
compose  with  each  other,  must  give  an  interesting 
interior  and  exterior. 

An  architect  delights  in  the  study  of  a great 
plan — St.  Peter’s,  for  example.  The  original 
conception  of  this  plan  was  Bramante’s.  With 
many  elements  of  greatness,  his  design  looked 
weak  and  proved  to  be  weak.  After  his  death 
there  were  thirty-three  years  of  misfortune  and 
accidents,  though  Guiliano  di  San  Gallo,  Vignola, 
Peruzzi,  and  others  did  some  good  work  in  try- 
ing to  modify  and  improve  Bramante’s  design. 
Then  Michelangelo  began  by  destroying  the 
greater  part  of  what  had  been  done  and  gave 
us  most  of  the  plan  as  we  now  see  it:  namely, 
that  part  which  directly  supports  and  encom- 
passes the  dome.  About  one  hundred  years 
after  Bramante’s  death  Maderno  added  to 

[78] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


Michelangelo's  work,  which  was  in  the  form  of  a 
Greek  cross,  extending  the  nave  and  changing 
the  plan  to  the  form  of  the  Latin  cross.  This 
addition  is  inferior  to  all  the  rest  of  the  work. 
To  this  part  of  the  building  belongs  the  present 
fagade,  which  is  not  worthy  of  the  rest  of  the 
structure.  It  was  a most  unfortunate  thing  for 
Maderno  that  his  work  should  be  handed  down 
to  posterity  between  that  of  Michelangelo  and 
that  of  Bernini,  who  planned  the  splendid  colon- 
nade and  galleries  in  the  front  of  the  building. 
Without  further  reference  to  its  history,  looking 
at  the  plan  as  a whole,  we  all  feel  that  it  is  a 
great  building.  This  plan  as  an  original  work  is 
one  of  the  greatest  ever  conceived  by  the  genius 
of  man.  Study  the  colonnade  and  galleries. 
The  direction  of  the  Vatican  stairs,  or  the  Scala 
Regia,  on  the  right  side  of  the  church,  is  not  at 
right  angles  to  the  fagade.  Bernini  skilfully 
planned  the  straight  portion  of  the  galleries  in 
axe  with  these  stairs,  and  then,  in  order  to  sym- 
metrize, he  made  the  other  gallery  to  correspond 
with  it.  It  was  of  more  importance  to  preserve 
the  axes  and  symmetry  than  to  have  parallel 
lines.  This  arrangement  not  only  made  a more 
interesting  silhouette,  but  it  also  made  a better 
and  more  agreeable  junction  between  the  circu- 
lar portion  of  the  colonnade  and  the  straight 

[79] 


LECTURES  OX  ARCHITECTURE 


galleries.  The  forms  of  the  piers  at  the  two 
junctions  are  skilfully  arranged,  and  they  are 
charmingly  repeated  at  the  centers  and  extremi- 
ties of  the  circular  colonnade. 

Again,  think  of  the  great  Roman  plans,  the 
basilicas  transformed  into  churches,  the  great 
Gothic  cathedrals,  and,  in  modern  times,  the 
Paris  Opera  House,  the  plan  of  which,  without 
thought  of  the  elevations,  is  the  making  of  the 
building. 

Having  considered  the  plans  of  buildings,  we 
might  speak  briefly  of  the  plan  of  the  immediate 
surroundings.  We  have  a very  characteristic 
name  for  this  portion  of  the  composition.  We 
call  it  the  “ sauce  of  the  architecture/'’  It  is 
this  portion  of  the  design  which  unites  or  marries 
the  building  with  its  natural  surroundings  or  the 
landscape.  Most  of  the  same  principles  of  com- 
position obtain  in  the  planning  of  this  portion  of 
the  work  as  in  the  planning  of  the  building  itself. 
The  architect  should  always  have  control  of  the 
design  or  plan  of  the  immediate  surroundings  of 
his  building. 

If  the  site  will  allow  it,  the  building  should  be 
so  placed  as  to  have  the  greater  portion  of  the 
grounds  on  one  side  of  it.  This  is  very  desirable, 
especially  when  the  site  is  small  in  proportion 
to  the  size  of  the  building.  The  object  is  to  give 

[So] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


a large  and  open  space  at  least  on  one  side, 
instead  of  a small  frame  or  fringe  all  the  way 
around  the  building. 

It  would  seem  as  if  this  were  merely  common- 
sense,  and  yet  how  little  is  the  principle  recog- 
nized! How  dreary  are  the  suburban  homes  of 
the  poorer  classes  in  this  country!  It  is  mainly 
because  a man,  when  he  builds,  places  his  small 
square  house  in  the  center  of  a square  lot  with  a 
square  walk  around  the  house  and  a fence  that 
forms  a square  around  the  walk;  and,  as  if 
this  were  not  enough,  even  the  streets  all  form 
squares  outside  his  lot. 

While  the  landscape  or  surroundings  should 
govern  the  general  composition  of  the  building 
in  the  beginning,  the  building  should  in  turn, 
when  completed,  influence  and  govern  the  ar- 
rangement and  composition  of  that  portion  of 
the  landscape  work  which  comes  in  immediate 
contact  with  it.  This  landscape  work  is  to  sur- 
round and  to  support  the  building,  serving  both 
as  frame  and  as  pedestal.  The  immediate 
accessories  of  the  architecture,  such  as  the  ter- 
races, balustrades,  paths,  fountains,  or  open 
spaces  and  vistas  which  come  nearest  the  build- 
ing, are  really  a part  of  the  building  itself. 

While  speaking  of  composition  in  plan,  some- 
thing should  be  said  with  reference  to  the  general 

[81] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


plan  of  cities,  that  is,  the  laying  out  of  streets, 
avenues,  or  parks. 

The  plan  of  a city  is  rather  an  evolution  than 
the  work  of  an  architect,  and  so  gives  precious 
testimony  to  the  different  phases  of  the  life  of 
the  people.  Many  of  the  most  interesting  sou- 
venirs of  the  past  are  seen  in  the  general  dis- 
position of  the  streets  and  public  squares.  How 
much  art,  however,  may  be  displayed  in  the 
influence  of  this  evolution  can  be  seen  by  look- 
ing at  some  of  the  cities  of  modern  times.  The 
greater  portion  of  every  city  is  the  accumulated 
work  of  generation  after  generation.  This  devel- 
opment is  determined  by  local  circumstances, 
by  the  political  constitution,  and  by  the  com- 
mercial and  domestic  life  of  the  inhabitants. 
But  happy  is  the  city  whose  development  in  the 
cutting  of  new  avenues  and  the  building  of  new 
squares  and  parks  has  been  governed  or  guided 
by  men  of  thorough  architectural  training. 

In  this  country,  I feel  that  with  the  many 
good  intentions  in  the  appointment  of  federal 
commissions  for  the  planning  of  the  future 
development  of  cities,  we  architects  have  almost 
always  undertaken  too  much  and  have  been  too 
ambitious  in  our  planning.  Such  plans  generally 
defeat  themselves,  and,  alas,  ofttimes  frighten 
intelligent  laymen.  I know  of  several  instances 

[82] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


where  work  has  been  either  entirely  abandoned 
or  engineers  have  been  employed  and  the  archi- 
tects disregarded.  This  is  a great  economic  as 
well  as  practical  mistake. 

The  plan,  once  determined  and  well  studied, 
should  suggest  all  it  will  in  elevation  and  deter- 
mine, in  a way,  all  its  component  parts.  Too 
much  emphasis  cannot  be  given  to  the  thorough 
knowledge  and  understanding  of  the  classic 
orders,  especially  the  Roman  orders — the  foun- 
dations of  all  modern  architecture  since  the 
Renaissance.  In  applying  these  classic  orders 
to  composition,  we  must  remember  that  restraint 
is  not  bondage;  it  makes  perfect  freedom  and 
progress  possible,  while  slavish  bondage  ends 
every  good  work.  Restraint  does  not  destroy, 
but  promotes,  originality,  guiding  and  stimu- 
lating it  and  opening  the  only  safe  paths  which 
lead  to  usefulness  and  success. 

In  our  American  enthusiasm  for  Greek  archi- 
tecture we  have  too  often  lost  sight  of  the 
greatness  and  nobility  of  the  Roman  school. 
The  Greeks  have  never  been  surpassed  in  exqui- 
site beauty  of  form  and  proportion,  in  extreme 
and  subtle  simplicity  and  refinement,  or  in  the 
perfect  harmony  which  pervades  their  every 
structure.  They  established  the  alphabet  and 
rhetoric  of  all  the  true  architecture  which  has 

[83] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


come  into  the  world  since  their  time.  It  seems 
to  me  that  most  of  their  work  was  the  outcome 
of  each  generation  being  content  to  improve  the 
general  composition  bequeathed  by  the  genera- 
tion preceding,  so  as  to  make  the  temple,  theater, 
or  choragic  monument  a little  better  than  ever 
before,  thus  coming  so  much  nearer  to  perfection. 
When  Ictinus  built  the  Parthenon,  we  might 
almost  say  that  the  general  composition  was 
bequeathed  to  him.  I would  not  for  a moment 
say  that  it  did  not  require  just  as  high  an  order 
of  genius  to  take  the  general  composition  which 
had  been  handed  down  and  to  make  the  Par- 
thenon perhaps  the  most  perfect  and  most  intel- 
lectual monument  ever  built  as  it  required  to 
compose  and  originate  the  great  dome  of  the 
Pantheon  with  scarcely  a precedent  leading  up 
to  it.  This  too  was  a great  artistic  achievement, 
perhaps  never  surpassed  in  the  further  develop- 
ment of  domes.  As  if  this  were  not  sufficient 
in  itself,  it  was  probably  the  first  great  structure 
of  this  form  on  so  large  a scale  that  was  ever 
built;  and,  in  fact,  the  Romans  and  Etruscans 
were  practically  the  originators  of  this  mode  of 
construction. 

The  Roman  architect  worked  with  independ- 
ence and  a singular  self-sufficiency  as  a composer. 
His  personality  came  to  the  foreground  as  he 

[84] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


used  this  Greek  alphabet  and  rhetoric  to  broaden 
out  his  work  in  more  elaborate  composition. 
Such  buildings  as  the  Baths  of  Caracalla,  one 
of  the  finest  plans  ever  made,  the  Pantheon,  the 
Colosseum,  the  Basilica  of  Constantine,  the  sev- 
eral triumphal  arches,  and  many  other  buildings, 
are  not  only  great,  but  original,  conceptions. 
What  a splendid  development  the  Romans  made 
of  the  arch,  both  as  a rational  and  a beautiful 
mode  of  construction!  They  were  certainly  not 
an  imitative  people . They  did  so  much  to  make 
architecture  meet  more  varied  conditions  of  life 
that  this  brings  them  nearer  to  the  still  more 
varied  conditions  of  today.  Bramante,  San  Galo, 
Michelangelo,  Paladio,  Vignola,  however,  and  all 
the  great  architects  of  the  Renaissance,  in  every 
country,  designed  with  the  Roman  orders  for 
their  classic  standards. 

There  may  not  be  a column  or  entablature  in 
a building,  but  as  long  as  there  is  a molding,  a 
cornice,  a window-sill,  or  an  architrave,  the 
architect  will  show  in  his  work  that  he  knows 
his  orders  and  is  familiar  with  their  proportions 
and  details. 

Repetition  is  a governing  principle.  We  Amer- 
icans too  often  lose  sight  of  this  law  for  fear  of 
being  monotonous.  A certain  amount  of  monot- 
ony is  a good  thing,  if  we  can  get  it  in  the  right 

[85] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


place  and  in  the  right  way.  What  is  there  more 
beautiful  and  more  impressive  than  a row  of 
trees  on  either  side  of  a straight  country  road! 
On  the  other  hand,  variety  is  another  principle. 
It  should  always  be  characterized  by  order  and 
symmetry  and  should  be  subservient  to  the 
ensemble  of  the  composition. 

Contrast  in  architecture  is  the  bringing  to- 
gether of  the  two  qualities  or  forms  that  are  in 
opposition  to  each  other,  such  as:  simple  wall 
surfaces  with  rich  carving,  light  with  shadow,  a 
perpendicular  line  in  contrast  with  a horizontal, 
a high  story  with  a low  story,  a large  opening 
with  a small  opening,  a high  and  narrow  opening 
with  a broad  and  low  opening.  Contrast  gives 
composition  warmth  and  color;  it  is  one  of  the 
salient  characteristics  of  the  Spanish  Renais- 
sance, and  it  is  oftentimes  found  there  in  excess. 
Probably  this  is  due  to  the  influence  of  national 
character  and  climate. 

The  proper  use  of  materials  is  to  keep  a true 
harmony  between  the  design  and  the  material 
in  which  it  is  to  be  executed,  remembering  that 
stone  has  to  be  cut;  iron  forged  or  molded; 
wood  sawed,  planed,  or  carved;  while  terra- 
cotta has  to  be  modeled,  molded,  and  baked. 
It  would  be  useless  for  me  to  discuss  how  design 
must  take  into  account  the  character  of  the 

[86] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


materials  to  be  used  in  construction.  All  of  us 
know  that  a wooden  column  must  be  lighter 
than  a stone  one  and  an  iron  column  much 
smaller  than  either,  with  sharper  and  more  clean- 
cut  moldings,  all  its  members  being  drawn  out 
longer  and  thinner.  (These  are  the  things  that 
it  is  best  not  to  theorize  about  too  much,  but  to 
learn  by  practice.) 

Perhaps  the  most  important  part  of  composi- 
tion remains  to  be  considered — namely,  propor- 
tion and  scale.  In  architecture,  proportion  is 
the  mutual  relation  of  the  dimensions  of  the 
several  parts  of  a building.  For  example,  if  an 
arch  looks  well,  it  is  because  there  is  a proper 
relation  between  its  height  and  width.  Good 
proportions  practically  depend  upon  a refined 
sense  of  what  looks  well  and  of  what  is  in  the 
highest  sense  harmonious  with  the  purpose  of 
the  building.  Vitruvius,  Albert,  and  others  have 
given  certain  systems  of  geometrical  formulas  to 
assist  the  architect  in  verifying  or  determining 
proportions,  both  in  plan  and  in  elevation.  I 
believe  that  comparatively  few  artists  have 
strictly  adhered  to  any  of  them  or  have  even 
taken  many  of  them  into  serious  account.  There 
are  certain  principles  of  proportion  which  all 
must  regard,  but  these  principles  cannot  be 
reduced  to  formulas.  The  dimensions  of  a 

[87] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


principal  room  or  court  which  is  not  square  or 
round — i.e.,  when  it  is  a parallelogram — are 
ofttimes  either  double  the  width  or  equal 
to  the  diagonal  of  the  square  of  the  smaller 
side. 

I believe  that  as  a rule  these  geometrical 
formulas  would  hinder  rather  than  help  the 
imagination.  There  are  certain  relations  that 
should  exist  between  the  diameter  and  the  height 
of  a column  or  between  the  height  of  a column 
and  of  the  entablature  and  its  intercolumniations. 
Again,  such  simple  rules  as  that  the  height  of  an 
opening  might  be  twice  its  width  or  that,  under 
other  circumstances,  the  height  should  be  equal 
to  the  diagonal  of  the  square  of  the  smaller  side, 
as  in  determining  the  proper  proportions  of  an 
important  room — such  simple  rules  as  these, 
modified  according  to  circumstances,  have  al- 
ways been  accepted.  The  relation  of  one  part 
of  a building  to  another  practically  constitutes 
almost  all  that  is  beautiful  in  architecture.  The 
relation  of  a column  to  the  arch  or  wall  in  con- 
tact with  it,  whether  over  it,  under  it,  or  at  one 
side  of  it,  the  relation  of  one  story  to  another, 
of  window  openings  to  wall  surfaces — these  are 
all  things,  when  we  have  new  problems  to  solve, 
which,  if  they  cannot  be  determined  by  the  study 
of  precedents,  must  be  determined  by  that  feeling 

[88] 


MILAN  CATHEDRAL 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


and  artistic  judgment  which  come  only  with 
practice. 

Men  have  become  accustomed  to  seeing  things 
done  in  a certain  way,  and,  while  this  way  can- 
not be  formulated  and  is  sometimes  vague,  we 
must  conform  to  it  wherever  we  can  under  our 
conditions.  There  is  therefore  a kind  of  unwrit- 
ten law  of  proportion  which  only  helps  the  archi- 
tect and  by  which  he  need  be  limited  no  more 
than  the  painter  or  sculptor  is  limited  in  repre- 
senting forms  of  nature.  We  are  accustomed  to 
seeing  the  human  figure  with  certain  proportions, 
and  when  we  find  in  a drawing  that  these  propor- 
tions are  violated  it  shocks  our  sensibilities,  not 
so  much  because  such  a deformity  would  not  meet 
the  conditions  of  existence,  but  because  we  are 
not  accustomed  to  such  proportions.  The  more 
the  architect  draws  from  both  architecture  and 
nature,  the  more  quickened  will  his  sensibilities 
be  to  distinguish  what  is  good  from  what  is  bad. 
Conditions  change  or  vary  the  proportions  mate- 
rially: for  example,  a column  which  has  to  sup- 
port several  stories  must  be  heavier  than  one 
which  is  only  decorative  or  which  is  on  the  upper 
floor,  while  a difference  of  materials  would  also 
require  a change  of  the  proportions.  It  is  well 
known  that  a column  which  looks  well  with  a 
wall  behind  it  would  look  thin  if  it  were  to  stand 

[89] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


out  against  a clear  sky.  Thus  a monument  in 
the  form  of  a single  column  surmounted  by  a 
statue  is  generally  only  six  or  seven  of  its  diam- 
eters in  height.  Notwithstanding  these  varia- 
tions, to  meet  exceptional  conditions  the  true 
artist  endeavors  to  keep  a certain  judicious  equi- 
librium among  all  such  variations.  Much  has 
been  written  about  the  necessity  of  altering  the 
proportions  of  things  which  perspective  fore- 
shortens, or  which  are  hidden  in  part  by  pro- 
jecting cornices,  or  which  will  be  seen  from 
different  points  of  view,  in  order  to  meet  these  dif- 
ferent conditions.  I believe  that  too  much  has 
been  said  upon  this  subject,  and  that,  while 
there  should  be  some  accommodation  to  different 
conditions,  there  are  not  nearly  so  many  required 
as  one  would  think.  An  important  thing  to 
remember  is  that  when  any  such  accommodation 
is  made,  or  when  conditions  are  in  any  way  taken 
into  account,  the  final  drawing  of  the  elevation 
with  the  shadows  cast  must  in  every  case  have 
good  proportions  and  look  well. 

A proof  that  a building  which  looks  well  in 
plan  and  elevation  is  almost  sure  to  look  well  in 
execution  or  perspective  is  the  fact  that  when 
we  examine  the  measured  elevations  of  great 
historical  buildings,  as  given  us  in  architectural 
books,  we  never  see  any  distortion  of  any  kind 

[90] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


to  remedy  the  effects  of  foreshortening,  or  any 
details  increased  in  size  so  as  to  be  out  of  pro- 
portion in  the  drawing  because  they  are  to  be 
seen  at  a great  height. 

In  general,  the  passer-by  divines  what  pro- 
jections conceal,  because  the  shadows  cast  make 
him  unconsciously  estimate  these  projections. 
The  mind  works  instinctively  in  making  allow- 
ance for  distances,  just  as  we  imagine  the  size 
of  a ship  or  of  a man  seen  in  the  distance.  Thus 
the  judgment  rectifies  illusions.  Most  of  the 
exceptions  are  cases  where  a building  has  several 
surfaces  in  different  planes,  one  surface  coming 
behind  another — for  example,  a tower  rising  be- 
hind a roof.  Though  the  tower  may  need  lifting 
to  be  seen,  it  would  be  a great  risk  to  lift  it  so 
much  that  it  does  not  look  well  in  elevation. 
There  must  be  an  intelligent  disposition  of 
things  and  a proper  method  of  carving  or 
modeling  the  details  according  to  the  height 
for  which  they  are  intended  rather  than  a 
changing  of  proportions  or  an  enlargement  of 
the  ornament. 

Closely  allied  to  this  question  of  proportion 
is  what  is  known  among  architects  as  scale. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  subtle  and  indescribable 
things  in  all  art.  Proportion  and  scale  are  dif- 
ferent things,  though  closely  related.  Proportion 

[91] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


is  the  relation  between  the  different  parts  of  a 
composition;  scale  is  the  relation  between  the 
size  of  all  these  parts  and  an  imaginary  unit  of 
measure  which  is  determined  by  our  sense  of  the 
fitness  of  things.  This  imaginary  unit  is  fixed 
by  our  education,  observation,  and  associations. 
To  illustrate:  we  associate  with  a horse  and  a 
dog  two  different  sizes.  We  might  imagine  a 
dog  the  size  of  a horse,  and  yet  well  proportioned; 
but  he  would  be  out  of  scale.  One  part  of  another 
animal  might  be  out  of  proportion  with  the  rest 
and  yet  not  be  out  of  scale;  but  one  part  out  of 
scale  would  of  necessity  be  out  of  proportion,  if 
all  the  rest  of  the  parts  were  not  in  scale  with  it. 
A horse’s  head  may  be  ill  formed,  yet  it  may 
not  be  out  of  proportion;  but  if  it  is  too  large  or 
too  small,  then  it  is  out  of  scale  and  out  of 
proportion  also. 

Experience  and  association  demand  a certain 
accord  between  the  size  of  an  object  and  its 
form.  There  is  an  intuitive  demand  in  the 
minds  of  all  men  that  the  size  of  any  object, 
though  varying  under  different  conditions,  must 
correspond  with  the  unchangeable  things  that 
surround  it.  The  merit  of  a design  should  be 
such  that  it  would  not  be  consistent  to  increase 
or  diminish  any  portion  of  the  building,  or  even 
any  detail. 


[92] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


The  human  figure  is  for  the  architect  the  unit 
of  measure,  because  its  normal  or  average  size 
is  most  fixed  upon  his  mind  and  because  it  was 
by  man  and  for  man  that  everything  in  archi- 
tecture was  originally  conceived  and  developed. 
The  height  of  a balustrade  was  for  him  to  lean 
upon  or  to  protect  him;  the  size  of  a door  for 
him  to  go  through  with  comfort;  the  size  of  a 
building  stone  was  for  him  to  handle  with  con- 
venience and  reasonable  facility;  the  size  of  a 
step  was  for  him  to  mount.  We  might  say 
approximately  that  in  ordinary  circumstances 
the  balustrade  should  be  about  three  feet  high, 
the  door  not  less  than  eight,  the  building  stone 
from  twelve  to  sixteen  inches  thick,  the  step  six 
inches  rise  and  twelve  inches  tread.  Now,  when 
these  measurements  meet  the  practical  require- 
ments they  are  right,  not  only  from  a utilitarian 
point  of  view,  but  also  from  an  artistic  point  of 
view,  and  we  speak  of  them  as  being  in  good 
scale  or  in  scale  with  the  rest  of  the  building. 
The  actual  size  in  feet  and  inches  of  other  things, 
such  as  columns,  pediments,  windows,  cornices, 
arches,  corbels,  molding,  ornaments,  architraves, 
etc.,  has  not  been  fixed  by  utility.  The  architect 
has  acquired,  by  experience  and  association,  a 
sense  which  determines  the  size  as  well  as  the 
proportions  of  these  things,  in  order  to  make 

[93] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


them  appear  in  his  building  as  they  really 
are,  without  having  to  compare  them  with 
the  size  of  a man  standing  by,  for  a unit  of 
measure. 

With  the  variation  of  the  size  of  the  building 
up  to  a given  point,  the  number  of  parts  or 
motives  in  the  building  itself  need  not  necessarily 
change,  but  the  relations  that  these  parts  have 
to  each  other  and  their  respective  proportions 
must  change.  To  illustrate  this  principle:  the 
normal  man  is  larger  than  the  dwarf,  or  the  horse 
than  the  pony,  but  while  in  both  instances  the 
same  features  exist  in  each,  their  proportions  are 
so  different  that  in  a photograph  or  an  accurate 
drawing  we  can  always  distinguish  the  normal 
man  from  the  dwarf  or  the  horse  from  the  pony. 
This  is  because  in  all  four  cases  the  characteristic 
features  are  in  scale.  This  we  feel  either  instinc- 
tively or  by  observation. 

Now  take  an  architectural  example.  There 
are  certain  buildings  which  do  not  look  their 
real  size.  Instead  of  being  impressed  with  the 
immensity  of  a building,  we  are  surprised  to  find 
how  small  a man  looks  when  we  see  him  standing 
near  it.  That  is  because,  while  the  proportions 
may  be,  in  general,  good,  the  building  lacks  scale. 
It  could  almost  be  said  that  it  might  be  reduced 
to  one-half  its  size,  and  without  some  definite 

[94] 


\ 


OSPEDALE  MAGGIORE,  MILAN— THREE  WINDOWS 


■ 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


unit  of  measure  to  compare  it  with  we  should 
scarcely  notice  the  reduction. 

In  building,  all  things  are  good  in  scale  when 
they  seem  as  large  as  they  are.  Bigness,  for  the 
sake  of  bigness,  is  small  art.  Often  a small 
thing  looks  bigger  than  some  big  thing  which 
looks  small.  If  we  err  one  way  or  the  other,  it 
is  better  to  make  a thing  somewhat  large  in  scale. 
Yet  things  that  are  large  in  feet  and  inches  may 
be  architecturally  small.  This  entire  question  of 
scale  is  too  often  neglected  and  should  always  be 
given  thought  and  careful  study.  Before  begin- 
ning to  work,  it  is  well  to  sketch  a man  at  one 
side  of  the  paper,  drawing  him  at  the  scale 
to  be  adopted.  This  is  for  comparison  and 
guidance. 

A large  window  and  a large  door  look  well  if 
not  exaggerated.  A large  arch  or  a large  column 
in  scale  is  imposing;  if  not  in  scale,  it  is  ugly, 
and  its  bigness  only  emphasizes  its  ugliness.  In 
general,  when  the  size  of  a motive  increases — as, 
for  example,  in  a cornice — the  number  of  its 
minor  parts,  such  as  moldings,  should  increase, 
though  by  no  means  proportionately  with  the 
increase  of  the  cornice. 

In  our  study,  in  order  to  understand  fully  the 
true  conditions  of  things  and  the  real  proportions 
and  the  scale  of  our  building,  we  should  always 

[95] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 

blacken-in  the  walls  of  our  plan,  and  draw  and 
color-in  the  shadows  of  our  facades  and  sections; 
otherwise  we  can  never  judge  how  the  building 
willflook  in  execution.  This  way  of  rendering 
drawings  reveals  the  true  proportions  and  con- 
ditions of  things,  while  a perspective  drawing 
distorts  and  misleads. 

Though  it  is  not  universally  the  case,  we  can 
generally  detect  either  one,  two,  or  three  clearly 
marked  divisions  in  the  height  of  a well-composed 
building.  There  is,  as  it  were,  a beginning,  a 
middle,  and  an  end  in  this  vertical  growth. 
Possibly  this  comes  from  the  fact  that  nature 
itself  seems  to  favor  this  triple  division.  We 
see  it  in  space — length,  breadth,  and  height;  in 
time — past,  present,  and  future;  in  the  kingdoms 
— mineral,  vegetable,  and  animal.  We  have 
always  seen  the  triune  in  the  aspirations  and 
longings  of  men  in  ancient  mythologies  and 
religions,  and  in  Christianity  itself  in  its  idea  of 
the  Trinity.  There  is  a common  tendency  in 
writing  to  run  one's  adjectives  in  triads,  for  ex- 
ample: “He  was  honest,  courteous,  and  brave” 
— a tendency  which  was  very  marked  in 
Dr.  Johnson.  Dr.  Holmes  thinks  that  this 
comes  of  an  instinctive  and  involuntary  effort 
of  the  mind  to  present  a thought  or  image  with 
the  three  dimensions  that  belong  to  every  solid, 

[96] 


ARCHITECTURAL  COMPOSITION 


an  unconscious  handling  of  an  idea  as  if  it  had 
length,  breadth,  and  thickness. 

We  have  so  few  well-composed  buildings  in 
the  short  history  of  American  architecture  that 
we  have  a right  to  expect  from  those  who  govern 
us  such  patriotism  as  will  hold  fast  to  the  best 
as  well  as  the  time-honored  landmarks  of  our 
national  civilization.  The  historic  monuments 
of  a people  may  be  regarded  as  the  features  of 
its  countenance,  through  which  is  revealed  the 
soul  of  that  people.  They  should  show  respect 
for  age.  Our  country  has  too  few  of  these  ex- 
pressive lines  of  experience  in  its  youthful  his- 
toric countenance,  and  should  have  the  soul  to 
respect  and  save  every  one  of  them.  It  is  per- 
haps not  strange  if,  in  the  mad  excitement  of 
rebellion  or  revolution,  men’s  passions  lead  them 
to  destroy  the  very  best  of  their  own  inheritance; 
but  in  times  of  peace,  with  calm  and  quiet  delib- 
eration to  destroy  the  ancient  landmarks  which 
our  forefathers  have  set  for  us — this  seems  utterly 
irreverent  and  inexcusable. 


t97] 


IV 

MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 

We  American  architects  are  ofttimes  con- 
fronted with  the  question  why  we  have  not  an 
architecture  of  our  own — one  which  is  essentially 
American;  and  why  it  is  that  so  many  of  us  who 
have  studied  in  Paris  seem  inclined  to  inculcate 
the  principles  of  the  Ecole  des  Beaux-Arts  into 
our  American  architecture.  The  majority  of 
people  do  not  seem  to  realize  that  in  solving  the 
problems  of  modern  life  the  essential  is  not  so 
much  to  be  national,  or  American,  as  it  is  to  be 
modern,  and  of  our  own  period. 

The  question  of  supreme  interest  is:  What 
influence  has  life  in  its  different  phases  upon  the 
development  of  architectural  style  ? Style  in 
architecture  is  that  method  of  expression  in  the 
art  which  has  varied  in  different  periods,  almost 
simultaneously  throughout  the  civilized  world, 
without  reference  to  the  different  countries,  be- 
yond slight  differences  of  national  character, 
mostly  influenced  by  climate  and  temperament. 

Surely  modern  architecture  should  not  be  the 
deplorable  creation  of  the  would-be  style  in- 

[98] 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


ventors,  the  socialists  who  have  penetrated  the 
world  of  art  farther  than  they  have  the  world  of 
politics,  who  are  more  concerned  in  promulgating 
an  innovation  than  in  establishing  a real  improve- 
ment— so-called  Futurists,  New  Thinkers,  Cu- 
bists, art  nouveau  followers,  all  unrelated  to  the 
past  without  thought  of  traditions.  No  more 
should  modern  architecture  be  the  work  of  the 
illogical  architect,  living  in  one  age  and  choosing 
a style  from  another,  without  rhyme  or  reason, 
to  suit  his  own  fancy  or  that  of  his  client. 

The  important  and  indisputable  fact  is  not 
generally  realized  that  from  prehistoric  times 
until  now  each  age  has  built  in  one,  and  only 
one,  style.  Since  the  mound-builders  and  cave- 
dwellers,  no  people,  until  modern  times,  ever 
attempted  to  adapt  a style  of  a past  epoch  to 
the  solution  of  a modern  problem.  In  such 
attempts  is  the  root  of  all  modern  evils.  In  each 
successive  style  there  has  always  been  a distinc- 
tive spirit  of  contemporaneous  life  from  which 
its  root  drew  nourishment.  But  in  our  time, 
contrary  to  all  historic  precedents,  there  is  this 
confusing  selection  from  the  past.  Why  should 
we  not  be  modern  and  have  one  characteristic 
style  expressing  the  spirit  of  our  own  life  ? His- 
tory and  the  law  of  development  alike  demand 
that  we  build  as  we  live. 

[99] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


One  might  consider  the  history  and  develop- 
ment of  costumes  to  illustrate  the  principle 
involved.  In  our  dress  today  we  are  modern, 
but  sufficiently  related  to  the  past — which  we 
realize  when  we  look  upon  the  portraits  of  our 
ancestors  of  only  a generation  ago.  We  should 
not  think  of  dressing  as  they  did,  or  of  wearing 
a Gothic  robe  or  a Roman  toga;  but,  as  indi- 
vidual as  we  might  wish  to  be,  we  should  still 
be  inclined,  with  good  taste,  to  dress  according 
to  the  dictates  of  the  day. 

The  irrational  idiosyncrasy  of  modern  times 
is  the  assumption  that  each  kind  of  problem 
demands  a particular  style  of  architecture. 
Through  prejudice,  this  assumption  has  become 
so  fixed  that  it  is  common  to  assume  that  if 
building  a church  or  a university  we  must  make 
it  Gothic;  if  a theater,  we  must  make  it  Renais- 
sance. One  man  wants  an  Elizabethan  house, 
another  wants  his  house  early  Italian.  With 
this  state  of  things,  it  would  seem  as  though  the 
serious  study  of  character  were  no  longer  neces- 
sary. Expression  in  architecture,  forsooth,  is 
only  a question  of  selecting  the  right  style. 

The  two  classes  with  which  we  must  contend 
are,  on  the  one  hand,  those  who  would  break 
with  the  past,  and,  on  the  other,  those  who  would 
select  from  the  past  according  to  their  own  fancy. 

[ioo] 


CHATEAU  DE  BLOIS — AILE  DE  LOUIS  XII— FA 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


Style  in  its  growth  has  always  been  governed 
by  the  universal  and  eternal  law  of  development. 
If  from  the  early  times,  when  painting,  sculpture, 
and  architecture  were  closely  combined,  we  trace 
their  progress  through  their  gradual  development 
and  consequent  differentiation,  we  cannot  fail  to 
be  impressed  by  the  way  in  which  one  style  has 
been  evolved  from  another.  This  evolution  has 
always  kept  pace  with  the  progress  of  the  po- 
litical, religious,  and  economic  spirit  of  each 
successive  age.  It  has  manifested  itself  uncon- 
sciously in  the  architect’s  designs,  under  the 
imperatives  of  new  practical  problems,  and  of 
new  requirements  and  conditions  imposed  upon 
him.  This  continuity  in  the  history  of  architec- 
ture is  universal.  As  in  nature  the  types  and 
species  of  life  have  kept  pace  with  the  successive 
modifications  of  lands  and  seas  and  other  physical 
conditions  imposed  upon  them,  so  has  architec- 
tural style  in  its  growth  and  development  until 
now  kept  pace  with  the  successive  modifications 
of  civilization.  For  the  principles  of  develop- 
ment should  be  as  dominant  in  art  as  they  are 
in  nature.  The  laws  of  natural  selection  and 
of  the  survival  of  the  fittest  have  shaped  the 
history  of  architectural  style  just  as  truly  as 
they  have  the  different  successive  forms  of  life. 
Hence  the  necessity  that  we  keep  and  cultivate 

[ioi] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


the  historic  spirit,  that  we  respect  our  his- 
toric position  and  relations,  and  that  we  realize 
more  and  more  in  our  designs  the  fresh  demands 
of  our  time,  more  important  even  than  the 
demands  of  our  environment. 

What  determining  change  have  we  had  in  the 
spirit  and  methods  of  life  since  the  revival  of 
learning  and  the  Reformation  to  justify  us  in 
abandoning  the  Renaissance  or  in  reviving 
mediaeval  art — Romanesque,  Gothic,  Byzantine, 
or  any  other  style  ? Only  the  most  radical 
changes  in  the  history  of  civilization,  such  as, 
for  example,  the  dawn  of  the  Christian  era  and 
of  the  Reformation  and  the  revival  of  learning, 
have  brought  with  them  correspondingly  radical 
changes  in  architectural  style. 

Were  it  necessary,  we  could  trace  two  dis- 
tinctly parallel  lines,  one  the  history  of  civiliza- 
tion and  the  other  the  history  of  style  in  art. 
In  each  case  we  should  find  a gradual  develop- 
ment, a quick  succession  of  events,  a revival, 
perhaps  almost  a revolution  and  a consequent 
reaction,  always  together,  like  cause  and  effect, 
showing  that  architecture  and  life  must  corre- 
spond. In  order  to  build  a living  architecture, 
we  must  build  as  we  live. 

Compare  the  Roman  orders  with  the  Greek 
and  with  previous  work.  When  Rome  was  at 

[102] 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


its  zenith  in  civilization,  the  life  of  the  people 
demanded  of  the  architect  that  he  should  not 
only  build  temples,  theaters,  and  tombs,  but 
baths,  basilicas,  triumphal  arches,  commemo- 
rative pillars,  aqueducts,  and  bridges.  As  each 
of  these  new  problems  came  to  the  architect,  it 
was  simply  a new  demand  from  the  new  life  of 
the  people,  a new  work  to  be  done.  When  the 
Roman  architect  was  given  such  varied  work  to 
do,  there  was  no  reason  for  his  casting  aside  all 
precedent.  While  original  in  conception,  he  was 
called  upon  to  meet  these  exigencies  only  with 
modifications  of  the  old  forms.  These  modifica- 
tions very  gradually  gave  us  Roman  architecture. 
The  Roman  orders  distinctly  show  themselves 
to  be  a growth  from  the  Greek  orders,  but  the 
variations  were  such  as  were  necessary  so  that 
the  orders  might  be  used  with  more  freedom  in 
a wider  range  of  problems.  These  orders  were 
to  be  brought  in  contact  with  wall  or  arch,  or  to 
be  superimposed  upon  one  another,  as  in  a Roman 
amphitheater.  The  Roman  recognition  of  the 
arch  as  a rational  and  beautiful  form  of  con- 
struction, and  the  necessity  for  the  more  intri- 
cate and  elaborate  floor-plan,  were  among 
the  causes  which  developed  the  style  of  the 
Greeks  into  what  is  now  recognized  as  Roman 
architecture. 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


We  could  multiply  illustrations  without  limit. 
The  battlements  and  machicolated  cornices  of 
the  Romanesque,  the  thick  walls  and  the  small 
windows  placed  high  above  the  floor,  tell  us  of 
an  age  when  every  man's  house  was  indeed  his 
castle,  his  fortress,  and  his  stronghold.  The 
style  was  then  an  expression  of  that  feverish 
and  morbid  aspiration  peculiar  to  mediaeval  life. 
The  results  are  great,  but  they  are  the  outcome 
of  a disordered  social  status  not  like  our  own, 
and  such  a status  could  in  nowise  be  satisfied 
with  the  simple  classic  forms  of  modern  times, 
the  architrave  and  the  column. 

Compare  a workman  of  today  building  a 
Gothic  church,  slavishly  following  his  detail 
drawings,  with  a workman  of  the  fourteenth 
century  doing  such  detail  work  as  was  directed 
by  the  architect,  but  with  as  much  interest, 
freedom,  and  devotion  in  making  a small  capital 
as  the  architect  had  in  the  entire  structure. 
Perhaps  doing  penance  for  his  sins,  he  praised 
God  with  every  chisel-stroke.  His  life  interest 
was  in  that  small  capital;  for  him  work  was 
worship;  and  his  life  was  one  continuous  psalm 
of  praise.  The  details  of  the  capital,  while  beau- 
tiful, might  have  been  grotesque,  but  there  was 
honest  life  in  them.  To  imitate  such  a capital 
today,  without  that  life,  would  be  affectation. 

[104] 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


Now  a Gothic  church  is  built  by  laborers  whose 
one  interest  is  to  increase  their  wages  and  dimin- 
ish their  working  hours.  The  best  Gothic  work 
has  been  done  and  cannot  be  repeated.  When 
attempted,  it  will  always  lack  that  kind  of  medi- 
aeval spirit  of  devotion  which  is  the  life  of 
mediaeval  architecture. 

We  might  enumerate  such  illustrations  in- 
definitely. 

If  one  age  looks  at  things  differently  from 
another  age,  it  must  express  things  differently. 
We  are  still  living  today  in  the  period  of  the 
Renaissance.  With  the  revival  of  learning,  with 
the  new  conceptions  of  philosophy  and  religion, 
with  the  great  discoveries  and  inventions,  with 
the  altered  political  systems,  with  the  fall  of  the 
Eastern  Empire,  with  the  birth  of  modern  science 
and  literature,  and  with  other  manifold  changes 
all  over  Europe,  came  the  dawn  of  the  modern 
world;  and  with  this  modern  world  there  was 
evolved  what  we  should  now  recognize  as  the 
modern  architecture,  the  Renaissance,  which 
pervaded  all  the  arts  and  which  has  since  en- 
grossed the  thought  and  labor  of  the  first  masters 
in  art.  This  Renaissance  is  a distinctive  style 
in  itself,  which,  with  natural  variations  of  char- 
acter, has  been  evolving  for  almost  four  hundred 
years. 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 

So  great  were  the  changes  in  thought  and  life 
during  the  Renaissance  period  that  the  forms  of 
architecture  which  had  prevailed  for  a thousand 
years  were  inadequate  to  the  needs  of  the  new 
civilization,  to  its  demands  for  greater  refinement 
of  thought,  for  larger  truthfulness  to  nature,  for 
less  mystery  in  form  of  expression,  and  for 
greater  convenience  in  practical  living.  Out  of 
these  necessities  of  the  times  the  Renaissance 
style  was  evolved — taking  about  three  genera- 
tions to  make  the  transition — and  around  no 
other  style  have  been  accumulated  such  vast 
stores  of  knowledge  and  experience  under  the 
lead  of  the  great  masters  of  Europe.  Therefore 
whatever  we  now  build,  whether  church  or  dwel- 
ling, the  law  of  historic  development  requires 
that  it  be  Renaissance,  and  if  we  encourage  the 
true  principles  of  composition  it  will  involun- 
tarily be  a modern  Renaissance,  and  with  a view 
to  continuity  we  should  take  the  eighteenth 
century  as  our  starting-point,  because  here 
practically  ended  the  historic  progression  and 
entered  the  modern  confusion. 

Imagine  the  anachronism  of  trying  to  satisfy 
our  comparatively  realistic  tastes  with  Gothic 
architectural  sculpture  or  with  paintings  made  by 
modern  artists!  Never,  until  the  present  gen- 
eration, have  architects  presumed  to  choose  from 

[106] 


TOURS  CATHEDRAL 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


the  past  any  style  in  the  hope  of  doing  as  well  as 
was  done  in  the  time  to  which  that  style  belonged. 
In  other  times  they  would  not  even  restore  or 
add  to  a historic  building  in  the  style  in  which 
it  was  first  conceived.  It  is  interesting  to  notice 
how  the  architect  was  even  able  to  complete  a 
tower  or  add  an  arcade  or  extend  a building, 
following  the  general  lines  of  the  original  com- 
position without  following  its  style,  so  that 
almost  every  historic  building  within  its  own 
walls  tells  the  story  of  its  long  life.  How  much 
more  interesting  alike  to  the  historian  and  the 
artist  are  these  results! 

In  every  case  where  the  mediaeval  style  has 
been  attempted  in  modern  times  the  result  has 
shown  a want  of  life  and  spirit,  simply  because 
it  was  an  anachronism.  The  result  has  always 
been  dull,  lifeless,  and  uninteresting.  It  is  with- 
out sympathy  with  the  present  or  a germ  of 
hope  for  the  future — only  the  skeleton  of  what 
once  was.  We  should  study  and  develop  the 
Renaissance  and  adapt  it  to  our  modern  condi- 
tions and  wants,  so  that  future  generations  can 
see  that  it  has  truly  interpreted  our  life.  We 
can  interest  those  who  come  after  us  only  as  we 
thus  accept  our  true  historic  position  and  de- 
velop what  has  come  to  us.  We  must  accept 
and  respect  the  traditions  of  our  fathers  and 

[107] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


grandfathers  and  be,  as  it  were,  apprenticed  by 
their  influence.  Without  this  we  shall  be  only 
copyists,  or  be  making  poor  adaptations  of  what 
was  never  really  ours. 

The  time  must  come — and,  I believe,  in  the 
near  future — when  architects  of  necessity  will  be 
educated  in  one  style,  and  that  will  be  the  style 
of  their  own  time.  They  will  be  so  familiar 
with  what  will  have  become  a settled  con- 
viction and  so  loyal  to  it  that  the  entire 
question  of  style,  which  at  present  seems  to  be 
determined  by  fashion,  fancy,  or  ignorance,  will 
be  kept  subservient  to  the  great  principles  of  com- 
position which  are  now  more  or  less  smothered 
in  the  general  confusion. 

Whoever  demands  of  an  architect  a style  not 
in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of  his  time  is  responsible 
for  retarding  the  normal  progress  of  the  art.  We 
must  have  a language  if  we  would  talk.  If  there 
be  no  common  language  for  a people,  there  can 
be  no  communication  of  ideas,  either  architectural 
or  literary.  I am  convinced  that  the  multiplicity 
of  printed  books  and  periodicals  written  by  liter- 
ary critics  and  essayists  who  have  not  even  been 
apprenticed  but  are  writing  with  authority  about 
art,  has,  perhaps,  been  more  instrumental  than 
anything  else  in  bringing  about  this  modern  con- 
fusion. I believe  that  we  shall  one  day  rejoice 

[i°8] 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


in  the  dawn  of  a modern  Renaissance,  and,  as 
always  has  been  the  case,  we  shall  be  guided  by 
the  fundamental  principles  of  the  classic.  It  will 
be  a modern  Renaissance,  because  it  will  be 
characterized  by  the  conditions  of  modern  life. 
It  will  be  the  work  of  the  Renaissance  architect 
solving  new  problems,  adapting  his  art  to  an 
honest  and  natural  treatment  of  new  materials 
and  of  new  conditions.  Will  he  not  also  be  un- 
consciously influenced  by  the  twentieth-century 
spirit  of  economy  and  by  the  application  of  his 
art  to  all  modern  industries  and  speculations  ? 

Only  when  we  come  to  recognize  our  true 
historic  position  and  the  principles  of  continuity 
in  history,  when  we  allow  the  spirit  of  our  life 
to  be  the  spirit  of  our  style,  recognizing,  first  of 
all,  that  form  and  all  design  are  the  natural  and 
legitimate  outcome  of  the  nature  or  purpose  of 
the  object  to  be  made — only  then  can  we  hope 
to  find  a real  style  everywhere  asserting  itself. 
Then  we  shall  see  that  consistency  of  style  which 
has  existed  in  all  times  until  the  present  genera- 
tion; then,  too,  shall  we  find  it  in  every  per- 
formance of  man's  industry,  in  the  work  of  the 
artist  or  the  artisan,  from  the  smallest  and  most 
insignificant  jewel  or  book-cover  to  the  noblest 
monument  of  human  invention  or  creation, 
from  the  most  ordinary  kitchen  utensil  to  the 

[109] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


richest  and  most  costly  furniture  or  painted 
decoration. 

We  must  all  work  and  wait  patiently  for  the 
day  to  come  when  we  shall  work  in  unison  with 
our  time.  Our  Renaissance  must  not  be  merely 
archaeological — the  literal  following  of  certain 
periods  of  the  style.  To  build  a French  Louis  XII 
or  Francis  I or  Louis  XIV  house,  or  to  make  an 
Italian  cinquecento  design,  is  indisputably  not 
modern  architecture.  No  architect  until  our 
times  slavishly  followed  the  characteristics  of 
any  particular  period,  but  he  used  all  that  he 
could  get  from  what  preceded  him,  solving  such 
new  problems  as  were  the  imperatives  of  his 
position. 

What  did  a man  like  Pierre  Lescot,  the  archi- 
tect of  the  Henry  II  Court  of  the  Louvre,  en- 
deavor to  do  ? It  would  have  been  impossible 
for  him  actually  to  define  the  style  of  his  own 
period.  That  is  for  us,  his  successors,  to  do. 
For  him  the  question  was  how  to  meet  the  new 
demands  of  contemporaneous  life.  He  studied 
all  that  he  could  find  in  classic  and  Renaissance 
precedents  applicable  to  his  problem.  He  com- 
posed, never  copying,  and  always  with  that 
artistic  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things  which  was 
capable  of  realizing  what  would  be  harmonious 
in  his  work.  In  the  same  way  all  architects,  at 

[iio] 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


all  times,  contributed  to  a contemporaneous 
architecture,  invariably  with  modifications  to 
meet  new  conditions.  This  must  be  done  with 
a scholarly  appreciation  of  that  harmonious  re- 
sult which  comes  only  from  a thorough  educa- 
tion. So,  with  freedom  of  the  imagination  and 
unity  of  design,  an  architecture  is  secured 
expressive  of  its  time. 

Again,  as  in  all  times  until  now,  there  will  be 
design  and  not  mere  novelty  in  the  carriage, 
automobile,  or  boat,  as  well  as  in  the  endless 
variety  of  implements  of  utility  or  amusement. 

How  is  it  with  us  in  modern  times  ? Not  only 
do  many  architects  slavishly  follow  the  character 
of  some  selected  period,  but  they  also  deliber- 
ately take  entire  motives  of  composition  from 
other  times  and  other  places  to  patch  and  apply 
them  to  our  new  conditions  and  new  life.  Every 
man's  conscience  must  speak  for  itself  as  to 
whether  such  plagiarism  is  right;  but  while  the 
moral  aspect  of  this  question  has  very  little  to 
do  with  art,  yet  intellectually  such  imitative 
work,  though  seemingly  successful,  positively 
stifles  originality,  imagination,  and  every  effort 
to  advance  in  the  right  direction. 

The  way  is  now  prepared  for  us  to  endeavor 
to  indicate  what  are  some  of  the  principal  causes 
of  the  modern  confusion  in  style.  With  us 

[in] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


Americans  an  excessive  anxiety  to  be  original  is 
one  of  the  causes  of  no  end  of  evil.  The  imagina- 
tion should  be  kept  under  control  by  given  prin- 
ciples. We  must  have  ability  to  discern  what  is 
good  among  our  own  creations  and  courage  to 
reject  what  is  bad.  Originality  is  a spontaneous 
effort  to  do  work  in  the  simplest  and  most  natural 
way.  The  conditions  are  never  twice  alike;  each 
case  is  new.  We  must  begin  our  study  with  the 
floor-plan  and  then  interpret  that  floor-plan  in  the 
elevation,  using  forms,  details,  and  sometimes 
motives,  with  natural  variations  and  improve- 
ments on  what  has  gone  before.  The  true  artist 
leaves  his  temperament  and  individuality  to  take 
care  of  themselves. 

Some  say  that  if  this  is  all  that  we  are  doing 
there  is  nothing  new  in  art;  but  if  we  compose 
in  the  right  way  there  can  be  nothing  that  is 
not  new.  Surely  you  would  not  condemn  nature 
for  not  being  original  because  there  is  a certain 
similarity  between  the  claw  of  a bird  and  the 
foot  of  a dog,  or  between  the  wing  of  a bird  and 
the  fin  of  a fish.  The  ensemble  of  each  creature 
is  the  natural  result  of  successive  stages  of  life, 
with  variations  of  the  different  parts  according 
to  the  principles  of  evolution.  There  are  count- 
less structural  correspondences  in  the  skeletons 
of  organic  life,  but  these  show  the  wonderful 

[112] 


M 


CHURCH  OF  ST.  ETIENNE  DU  MONT,  PARIS 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


unity  of  the  universe;  and  yet,  notwithstanding 
this  unity,  nature  is  flooded  with  an  infinite 
variety  of  forms  and  species  of  life. 

We  must  logically  interpret  the  practical  con- 
ditions before  us,  no  matter  what  they  are.  No 
work  to  be  done  is  ever  so  arbitrary  in  its  prac- 
tical demands  but  that  the  art  is  elastic  and 
broad  enough  to  give  these  demands  thorough 
satisfaction  in  more  than  a score  of  different 
ways.  If  only  the  artist  will  accept  such  prac- 
tical imperatives  as  are  reasonable,  if  only 
he  will  welcome  them,  one  and  all,  as  friendly 
opportunities  for  loyal  and  honest  expression 
in  his  architecture,  he  will  find  that  these  very 
conditions  will  do  more  than  all  else  besides 
for  his  real  progress  and  for  the  development  of 
contemporaneous  art  in  composition. 

Never  resent  what  at  first  thought  may  seem 
to  be  limitations  and  in  despair  try  to  change 
conditions  which,  if  reasonable,  should  suggest 
new  and  interesting  design.  Frederick  the  Great 
said:  “The  great  art  of  policy  is  not  to  swim 
against  the  stream,  but  to  turn  all  events  to 
one's  own  profit.  It  consists  rather  in  deriving 
advantage  from  favorable  conjunctures  than  in 
preparing  such  conjunctures."  And  when  told 
of  the  death  of  the  Emperor  Charles  VI,  he  said 
to  a friend  who  was  with  him:  “I  give  you  a 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


problem  to  solve:  When  you  have  the  advantage, 
are  you  to  use  it  or  not  ?” 

The  architects  in  the  early  history  of  America 
were  distinctly  modern  and  closely  related  in 
their  work  to  their  contemporaries  in  Europe. 
They  seem  not  only  to  have  inherited  traditions 
but  religiously  to  have  adhered  to  them.  I 
believe  that  it  is  because  of  this  that  the  genuine 
and  naive  character  of  their  work,  which  was  of 
its  period,  still  has  a charm  for  us  which  cannot 
be  imitated.  McComb,  Bulfinch,  Thornton, 
Letrobe,  L’Enfant,  Andrew  Hamilton,  Strick- 
land, and  Walters  were  sufficiently  American 
and  distinctly  modern,  working  in  the  right 
direction,  unquestionably  influenced  by  the  Eng- 
lish architecture  of  Indigo  Jones,  Sir  Christopher 
Wrenn,  James  Gibbs,  Sir  William  Chambers,  and 
others.  Upjohn  and  Renwick,  men  of  talent, 
were  misled,  alas,  by  the  confusion  of  their  times, 
the  beginning  of  this  modern  chaos,  the  so-called 
Victorian-Gothic  period. 

Gifted  as  Richardson  was,  and  great  as  was 
his  personality,  his  work  is  always  easily  distin- 
guished, because  of  its  excellent  quality,  from  the 
so-called  Romanesque  of  his  followers.  But  I 
fear  the  good  he  did  was  largely  undone  because 
of  the  bad  influence  of  his  work  upon  his  pro- 
fession. Stumpy  columns,  squat  arches,  and 

[i  14] 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


rounded  corners,  without  Richardson,  form  a 
disease  from  which  we  are  only  just  recovering. 
McComb  and  Bulfinch  would  probably  have 
frowned  upon  Hunt  for  attempting  to  graft  the 
transitional  Loire  architecture  of  the  fifteenth 
century  upon  American  soil,  and  I believe  that 
all  will  agree  that  the  principal  good  he  accom- 
plished was  due  to  the  great  distinction  of  his 
art  and  to  the  moral  character  of  the  man  himself 
rather  than  to  the  general  influence  and  direction 
of  his  work. 

Whether  we  agree  with  Charles  F.  McKim  or 
not  in  wanting  to  revive  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury the  Italian  Renaissance  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  the  art  of  Bramante,  St.  Galo,  and 
Peruzzi,  he  had  perhaps  more  of  the  true  sense 
of  beauty  than  any  of  his  predecessors  in  Ameri- 
can art.  His  work  was  always  refined,  individual, 
and  had  a distinctly  more  classic  tendency  in 
his  most  recent  buildings. 

We  have  seen  that  the  life  of  an  epoch  makes 
its  impress  upon  its  architecture.  It  is  equally 
true  that  the  architecture  of  a people  helps  to 
form  and  model  its  character,  in  this  way  react- 
ing upon  it.  If  there  be  beauty  in  the  plans  of 
our  cities  and  in  the  buildings  which  adorn  our 
public  squares  and  highways,  its  influence  will 
make  itself  felt  upon  every  passer-by.  Beauty 

[ii5l 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


in  our  buildings  is  an  open  book  of  involuntary 
education  and  refinement,  and  it  uplifts  and 
ennobles  human  character.  It  is  a song  and  a 
sermon  without  words.  It  inculcates  in  a people 
a true  sense  of  dignity,  a sense  of  reverence  and 
respect  for  tradition,  and  it  makes  an  atmos- 
phere in  its  environment  which  breeds  the  proper 
kind  of  contentment,  that  kind  of  contentment 
which  stimulates  true  ambition.  If  we  would 
be  modern,  we  must  realize  that  beauty  of  de- 
sign and  line  in  construction  build  well,  and  with 
greater  economy  and  endurance  than  construc- 
tion which  is  mere  engineering.  The  qualitative 
side  of  a construction  should  first  be  considered, 
then  the  quantitative  side.  The  practical  and 
the  artistic  are  inseparable.  There  is  beauty  in 
nature  because  all  nature  is  a practical  problem 
well  solved.  The  truly  educated  architect  will 
never  sacrifice  the  practical  side  of  his  problem. 
The  greatest  economic  as  well  as  architectural 
calamities  have  been  performed  by  so-called 
practical  men  with  an  experience  mostly  bad  and 
with  no  education. 

It  is,  I believe,  a law  of  the  universe  that  the 
forms  of  life  which  are  fittest  to  survive — nay, 
the  very  universe  itself — are  beautiful  in  form 
and  color.  Natural  selection  is  beautifully  ex- 
pressed, ugliness  and  deformity  are  synonymous; 

[ii  6] 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


and  so  it  is  in  the  economy  of  life — what  would 
survive  must  be  beautifully  expressed. 

Has  the  world  beheld  in  art  that  which  we 
call  style,  changing  with  each  age,  the  visible 
expression  of  man’s  inner  consciousness,  appear- 
ing above  the  horizon  with  the  dawn  of  civiliza- 
tion, gradually  developing  in  orderly  sequence, 
one  degree  upon  another,  following  the  course  of 
time  ? Has  all  this  come  into  existence  only  to 
disappear  again  on  the  other  side  of  the  small 
circle  of  its  horizon  ? Has  history  recorded  its 
progress  from  dawn  to  twilight,  unconscious  of 
its  rapid  fading  into  the  darkness  of  night  ? Or 
will  it  rise  again,  following  the  natural  laws  of 
the  universe  ? Or,  like  the  falling  star,  is  it  lost 
in  the  confusion  of  eternal  space,  never  to  appear 
again  ? 

As  each  age  tells  its  own  story  in  its  own  lan- 
guage, shall  we  tell  our  story  to  future  genera- 
tions in  our  own  way  ? A great  tide  of  historic 
information  has  constantly  flowed  through  the 
channel  of  monuments  erected  by  successive 
civilizations,  the  art  of  each  age  being  an  open 
book  recording  the  life  and  spirit  of  the  epoch, 
ofttimes  verifying  the  truth  of  its  own  literature, 
an  integral  part  of  the  whole  scheme  of  evidence. 
The  archaeologist  thus  supplements  the  historian, 
but  alas,  with  the  chain  divided,  the  future  will 

[117] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


have  drifted  away  from  the  past  into  a vast 
ocean  of  discord,  where  architectural  continuity 
will  have  ceased  to  exist. 

The  recently  discovered  buried  cities  of  Assyria 
give  us  a vivid  idea  of  the  civilization  lost 
to  history.  The  Pyramid  of  Cheops  and  the 
temples  of  Karnak  and  Luxor  tell  us  more  of 
that  ingenuity  which  we  cannot  fathom  and 
of  the  grandeur  and  life  of  the  Egyptian 
people  than  the  scattered  and  withered  docu- 
ments or  fragments  of  inscriptions  that  have 
chanced  to  survive  the  crumbling  influences  of 
time. 

The  Parthenon  and  the  Erectheum  bespeak 
the  intellectual  refinement  of  the  Greeks  as  much 
as  their  epic  poems  or  their  philosophy.  The 
triumphal  arches,  the  aqueducts,  the  Pantheon, 
and  the  basilicas  of  Rome  tell  us  more  of  the 
great  constructive  genius  of  the  early  republic 
and  the  empire  of  the  Caesars  than  the  frag- 
mentary and  contradictory  annals  of  wars  and 
political  intrigues.  The  unsurpassed  and  inspir- 
ing beauty  of  the  Gothic  cathedrals  which 
bewilder  us,  and  the  cloisters  which  enchant  us, 
impress  on  our  minds  a living  picture  of  the 
feverish  and  morbid  aspirations  of  mediaeval 
times,  a civilization  that  must  have  had  mingled 
with  its  mysticism  an  intellectual  and  spiritual 

[iiB] 


APSE  OF  CHURCH  OF  ST.  PIERRE,  CAEN 


MODERN  ARCHITECTURE 


grandeur  which  the  so-called  Dark  Ages  of  the 
historian  have  failed  adequately  to  record;  and 
in  America,  even  amid  the  all-absorbing  work  of 
constructing  a new  government,  our  people 
found  time  to  speak  to  us  of  today  in  the  silent 
language  of  their  simple  colonial  architecture 
of  the  temperament  and  character  of  our  fore- 
fathers. 

And  when  in  the  tumult  of  this  modern  war- 
fare men’s  passions  overcome  their  reason,  and 
the  great  monuments  of  history  that  have  sur- 
vived the  ages  are  subjected  to  the  onslaught  of 
modern  armament,  let  us  hope  that  they  may  not 
be  further  subjected  to  the  work  of  the  architect 
who  would  fain  restore  them  in  the  style  which 
has  passed  and  so  rob  us  of  all  that  is  left. 
Let  them  be  protected  by  every  device  from 
further  destruction,  to  tell  the  story  of  this 
twentieth-century  civilization,  this  vaunted 
culture  which  has  failed  to  respect  and  protect 
its  heritage. 

Will  our  monuments  of  today  adequately  re- 
cord the  splendid  achievements  of  our  contem- 
poraneous life,  the  spirit  of  modern  justice  and 
liberty,  the  progress  of  modern  science,  the  genius 
of  modern  invention  and  discovery,  the  elevated 
character  of  our  institutions  ? Will  disorder  and 
confusion  in  our  modern  architectural  styles 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


express  the  intelligence  of  this  twentieth  century  ? 
Would  that  we  might  learn  a lesson  from  the 
past — that  modern  architecture,  wherever  under- 
taken, might  more  worthily  tell  the  story  of  the 
dignity  of  this  great  epoch  and  be  more  expressive 
of  our  contemporaneous  life! 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 

and 

THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 

BY 

CLAUDE  BRAGDON 


V 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 

With  the  echoes  of  distant  battles  in  our  ears 
and  in  the  face  of  economic  and  industrial  prob- 
lems which  clamor  for  solution,  it  may  seem  the 
height  of  futility  to  discuss  mere  matters  of 
aesthetics.  It  is  not  so,  however,  any  more  than 
it  is  futile  to  forecast  the  harvest  even  while 
last  year's  stubble  disappears  before  the  plough. 
Outworn  social  orders  go  down  before  the  can- 
non and  sword  in  order  that  mankind  may  realize 
new  ideals  of  beauty  and  beneficence  already 
existent  in  the  germ. 

It  is  clear  that  “the  old  order  changeth,”  not 
alone  in  the  House  of  Life,  but  in  the  Palace  of 
Art.  Anarchy  clamors  at  that  door  too.  In 
painting,  in  music,  and  in  the  drama  we  are 
entered  upon  that  phase  in  which  the  bolder 
spirits  are  rejecting  alike  the  passing  fashions 
and  the  forms  sanctified  by  time,  and  are  seeking 
new  generalizations.  Architecture,  the  least 
plastic  of  the  arts,  lags  a little;  but  the  great 
unrest  has  seized  that  also. 

We  observe  a great  confusion  of  ideas  upon 
the  whole  subject  of  architecture,  not  alone  on 

[123] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


the  part  of  the  public,  but  in  the  profession  itself. 
Eminent  architects  are  found  to  differ  widely  in 
their  opinions,  and  these  differences  find  expres- 
sion in  their  work.  It  is  clear  that  there  is  no 
common  agreement  among  them  as  to  what  con- 
stitutes excellence.  If  we  apply  only  the  criterion 
of  everyday  common-sense,  it  would  appear  that 
the  modern  architect  has  not  grasped  the  modern 
problem.  Let  me  try  to  prove  to  you  that  this 
is  so. 

First,  the  architect  of  today  fails  to  think  and 
work  in  terms  of  his  place . 

A proof  of  this  failure  is  found  in  the  unsuit- 
ability of  many  commonly  used  architectural 
forms  and  features  to  practical  needs  and  to 
climatic  and  environic  conditions.  Cornices, 
made  for  the  etching  of  strong  shadows  and  for 
protection  from  a tropic  sun,  frown  down  from 
the  skylines  of  our  cloudy  northern  cities,  where 
they  gather  dirt  and  soot  in  summer  and  in 
winter  become  traps  for  snow  and  ice.  Arcades 
and  colonnades,  originally  designed  for  shade 
and  shelter,  rob  overstrained  eyes  of  the  precious 
light  of  day.  Expensive  and  useless  balustrades 
protect  waste  spaces  of  roof  where  people  could 
not  take  their  pleasure  if  they  would. 

Secondly , the  architect  fails  to  think  and  work 
in  terms  of  his  time . 


[124] 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 

A proof  of  this  failure  is  found  in  the  perfectly 
meaningless  character  of  the  architectural  orna- 
ments in  common  use:  the  acanthus  scroll,  the 
egg  and  tongue,  the  Greek  fret  and  waterleaf, 
the  festoon  and  wreath,  a cartouche,  a shield,  a 
lion’s  head — echoes  all  of  the  past,  not  one  elo- 
quent of  the  present. 

Thirdly , the  architect  jails  to  think  and  work 
in  terms  of  his  materials . 

A proof  of  this  failure  is  found  in  the  common 
practice  of  substituting  one  material  for  another 
— wood  for  iron,  terra-cotta  for  stone,  stone  for 
concrete,  or  vice  versa — by  reason  of  their  dif- 
ferences in  cost,  without  essential  modification 
in  design.  One  of  the  most  important  functions 
of  architecture  is  thus  violated — the  showing 
forth  of  the  splendor  and  beauty  (be  it  a beauty 
of  strength  or  of  fragility)  of  different  materials, 
making  the  most  of  the  unique  characteristics  of 
each. 

Now  the  beauty  of  terra-cotta,  for  example, 
is  not  less  than  that  of  stone,  but  it  is  different. 
Witness  a Della  Robbia  lunette  and  a carved 
granite  Egyptian  bas-relief.  Imagine  the  terra- 
cotta arcades  of  the  Certosa  of  Pavia  carved  in 
stone.  One  would  fairly  ache  at  the  thought  of 
so  much  labor  and  feel  a sort  of  terror  at  so 
great  a weight  so  insufficiently  supported.  On 

[125] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


the  other  hand,  were  the  heavily  rusticated  street 
front  of  the  Pitti  Palace  in  Florence  translated, 
without  change,  from  stone  to  terra-cotta,  the 
result  would  be  no  less  distressing,  but  for  the 
opposite  reason.  There  would  be  no  charm  of 
detail  and  texture  to  compensate  for  the  splendid 
ponderosity  of  stone. 

In  the  face  of  these  facts,  it  will  be  well  if  we 
first  of  all  find  out  exactly  where  we  stand  and 
what  we  are  doing.  Let  us  therefore  try  to  get 
this  clear  without  further  loss  of  time. 

Looking  at  the  matter  from  the  broadest  pos- 
sible point  of  view,  it  is  evident  that  we  dwell 
in  a composite  environment:  that  in  which  we 
find  ourselves,  Nature;  and  that  which  we  make 
for  ourselves,  the  product  of  industry  and  art. 
In  this  city  of  Chicago,  for  example,  a wilder- 
ness of  railroads,  stockyards,  houses,  skyscrapers 
has  obliterated  the  earlier  wilderness  of  trees  and 
swamp  and  prairie  grass.  Nothing  so  diametri- 
cally foreign  to  Nature  as  this  gridiron  plan  and 
these  rectilinear  buildings  could  well  be  imagined. 
Man  has  himself  essayed  the  role  of  creator  and 
follows  a different  dream. 

This  has  been  the  case  more  or  less  ever  since 
the  stern  desire  for  mastery  and  the  sweet  dis- 
ease of  art  disturbed  the  balance  of  Nature  in 

[126] 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 

men's  souls.  When  we  come  to  consider  archi- 
tecture throughout  the  world  and  down  the  ages, 
we  find  it  bisected  by  a like  inevitable  duality: 
either  it  is  organic , following  the  law  of  natural 
organisms;  or  it  is  arranged , according  to  some 
Euclidian  ideal  devised  by  proud-spirited  man. 
In  other  words,  it  is  either  cultivated,  like  the 
flower;  or  it  is  cut,  like  the  gem. 

It  is  important  that  this  fundamental  differ- 
ence in  aim  and  method  should  be  clearly  per- 
ceived and  thoroughly  understood.  This  will  be 
best  accomplished  by  comparing  and  contrasting 
Gothic  architecture,  so-called,  which  is  pre- 
eminently a striving  toward  a free  organic 
expression  of  plan  and  construction,  with  Renais- 
sance architecture,  wherein  predetermined  canons 
of  abstract  beauty  are  imposed. 

The  popular  conception  of  Gothic  architecture 
is  of  a manner  of  building  practiced  throughout 
the  north  of  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
the  distinguishing  characteristics  of  which  were 
pointed  arches,  groined  vaulting,  buttressed 
walls,  traceried  windows,  and  the  like.  But  if 
we  study  those  principles  of  planning  and  con- 
struction which  produced  and  determined  the 
above-mentioned  characteristics  of  the  style,  we 
might  appropriately  describe  Gothic  as  a manner 
of  building  in  which  the  form  is  everywhere  deter- 

[127] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


mined  by  the  function,  changing  as  that  changes. 
Renaissance  architecture,  on  the  other  hand, 
represents  an  ideal  in  conformity  with  which  the 
function  is  made  to  accommodate  itself,  to  a 
certain  extent,  to  forms  and  arrangements  chosen 
less  with  a view  to  their  exact  suitability  and 
expressiveness  than  to  their  innate  beauty.  In 
short,  Gothic  architecture  is  organic;  Renaissance 
architecture  is  arranged. 

These  definitions,  embodying  the  distinction 
noted,  should  not  be  taken  to  imply  any  dis- 
paragement of  Renaissance  architecture,  that 
strained  and  triply  refined  medium  through 
which  some  of  the  noblest  strivings  of  the  human 
spirit  toward  absolute  beauty  have  achieved 
enduring  realization.  Arranged  and  organic 
architecture  correspond  to  the  two  hemispheres 
of  thought  and  feeling  into  which  mankind  is 
divided,  the  one  pre-eminently  intellectual,  the 
other  psychic.  They  represent  fundamental  dif- 
ferences of  principle  and  ideal,  unrelated  to 
considerations  of  time  and  space. 

In  what,  more  specifically,  do  these  differences 
consist  ? The  basic  one  is  that  organic  architec- 
ture, both  in  its  forms  and  in  the  disposition  of 
these  forms,  follows  everywhere  the  line  of  the 
least  resistance,  achieving  an  effect  of  beauty 
mainly  by  reason  of  the  fact  that  utility  is  the 

[128] 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 


parent  of  beauty  and  that  any  increase  in  fitness 
is  an  increase  in  beauty. 

In  arranged  architecture,  on  the  other  hand, 
this  principle  yields  precedence  to  a metaphysical 
ideal  of  pure  or  abstract  beauty,  achieved  by  the 
employment  of  forms,  rhythms,  and  arrange- 
ments, developed  by  a process  of  selection  and 
survival,  and  having  for  that  reason  a less  vital 
relation  to  the  whole  construction  than  in  the 
case  of  Gothic  architecture. 

Organic  architecture  does  not  reject  any  form 
or  any  arrangement  developed  by  long  use  and 
of  acknowledged  beauty,  so  long  as  it,  as  well 
as  another,  tells  a given  story  or  accomplishes  a 
given  end.  As  soon  as  it  becomes  inexpressive 
or  inefficient,  however,  by  reason  of  changed 
conditions,  it  is  modified  or  rejected,  or  a new 
one  is  created;  whereas  in  arranged  architecture, 
forms  originally  organic  survive  even  after  they 
have  lost  their  raison  d'etre.  It  was  for  this  rea- 
son that  the  Romans  employed  the  orders  after 
they  had  developed  the  arch.  To  the  devotee 
of  arranged  architecture,  beauty  is  its  own  suffi- 
cient justification;  to  him  who  follows  the  organic 
ideal,  as  soon  as  a thing  becomes  false  to  the 
mind  it  ceases  to  be  fair  to  the  eye. 

The  spirit  behind  organic  architecture  is 
adroit,  inventive,  fertile,  resourceful.  It  is 

[129] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 

economical  of  materials  and  means,  even  in  its 
most  sumptuous  creations.  It  is  most  itself 
when  engaged  in  attaining  a given  end  in  the 
simplest  and  most  direct  manner  possible.  It 
is  given  to  short  cuts  and  uses  the  tools  and 
materials  nearest  to  its  hand.  The  great  cathe- 
drals are  built  of  stones  of  easily  manageable 
size,  requiring  no  elaborate  machinery.  The 
spirit  behind  arranged  architecture,  on  the  other 
hand,  disdains  these  considerations.  There  is  a 
sublime  arrogance  in  the  way  in  which,  to  com- 
pass one  of  its  grandiose  effects,  it  spends  money 
by  millions  and  kills  men  like  flies.  The  first 
seems  to  say  to  Nature:  “Permit  me,  madam, 
to  assist  you;  there  is  a final  felicity  which,  with 
your  permission,  I shall  add.”  And  it  does  this 
quite  in  Nature's  manner,  without,  so  to  speak, 
disturbing  a hair  of  her  head.  The  second  says, 
rather,  “Til  show  you  a trick  worth  two  of  that,” 
and  proceeds  to  obliterate  the  landscape  and  put 
something  altogether  different  in  its  place.  It  is 
inconceivable,  for  example,  that  the  Gothic 
builders  would  have  converted  a swamp  into  a 
pleasure  garden,  as  Louis  XIV,  that  prince  of 
bromides,  did  at  Versailles,  at  such  enormous 
cost  of  lives  and  treasure.  It  is  equally  incon- 
ceivable that  the  architects  of  the  Renaissance 
would  have  hung  a church  upon  a crag,  as  the 

[i  3°] 


PALACE  OF  VERSAILLES 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 


mediaeval  builders  did  at  Mont  Saint  Michel — 
without,  at  least,  leveling  and  terracing  the  crag. 

In  all  true  Gothic  there  exists  so  intimate  a 
relation  between  the  interior  arrangement  and 
the  exterior  appearance — between  the  plan  and 
the  elevation — that  from  a study  of  the  latter 
the  former  may  with  fair  accuracy  be  read.  The 
manner  of  construction  rules  the  whole  structure 
and  declares  itself  at  sight.  In  Renaissance 
architecture,  even  at  its  best,  this  by  no  means 
follows;  the  elevation,  determined  by  considera- 
tions of  grandeur,  symmetry,  proportion,  is  often 
only  a mask.  St?  Paul’s  Cathedral,  in  London, 
is  an  example  of  this.  The  buttresses  of  the 
arches  of  the  nave  are  concealed  behind  a cur- 
tain wall  surmounted  by  a balustrade  which 
stands,  independent  of  any  roof,  high  aloft  in 
the  air.  The  stone  lantern  which  crowns  the 
dome  appears  to  be  supported  by  it,  but  the 
visible  dome  is  of  wood,  a falsework  which  con- 
ceals the  truncated  cone  of  brickwork  which 
alone  saves  the  lantern  from  tumbling  into  the 
center  of  the  church.  This  mendacity  of  the 
Renaissance  spirit  is  one  of  its  distinguishing 
characteristics.  The  application  to  a wall  of 
columns  and  entablature,  arches  and  imposts, 
which  support  nothing,  not  even  themselves,  is 
one  of  its  most  common  and  most  innocuous 

[i  31] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


forms.  Some  of  these  artifices  are  quite  justi- 
fiable from  the  standpoint  of  mere  aesthetics,  as 
I shall  endeavor  to  show  in  my  second  lecture; 
but  the  true  Gothicist  will  have  none  of  them, 
his  motto  being,  “Beauty  is  Truth;  Truth, 
Beauty.” 

In  arranged  architecture,  the  various  parts  and 
details  are  assembled  and  combined  by  the 
sovereign  good  taste  of  the  architect;  in  organic, 
they  are  melted  and  fused  by  the  creative  heat, 
the  eagerness  for  self-expression.  In  whatever 
form  it  appears,  organic  architecture  seems  to 
spring  up  without  effort,  almost  of  its  own  voli- 
tion, a natural  outcropping  of  national  and  racial 
vitality.  Men  do  not  have  to  learn  to  understand 
it;  they  recognize  themselves  in  it  because  they 
carry  the  clue  to  its  meaning  in  their  hearts. 
Arranged  architecture,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the 
self-conscious  embodiment  of  the  pomp  and  the 
pride  of  life.  Like  Little  Jack  Horner,  it  seems 
to  say,  “What  a great  boy  am  I!” 

It  is  not  profitable  to  multiply  these  distinc- 
tions, for  this  might  lead  more  to  confusion  than 
to  clarity  of  mind.  It  is  necessary  only  to  re- 
member that  the  real  point  of  cleavage  between 
organic  and  arranged  architecture  is  the  one  first 
dwelt  upon.  In  order  to  determine  to  which 
hemisphere  of  expression  a given  building  belongs 

[132] 


MONT-SAINT-MICHEL 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 


it  is  necessary  only  to  apply  the  acid  test  of 
Mr.  Sullivan’s  formula  and  ask,  “Does  the  form 
follow  the  function,  or  is  the  function  made 
subservient  to  the  form  ? Did  the  spirit  build 
the  house,  or  does  the  house  confine  the  spirit  ?” 
If  the  first,  it  is  organic;  if  the  second,  it  is 
arranged. 

Ponder  this  formula,  then  apply  it.  Strange 
truths  emerge.  It  is  plain  from  existing  evi- 
dences, and  from  our  knowledge  of  their  psychol- 
ogy, that  the  Greeks  built  in  the  organic  spirit, 
and  that  there  is  more  real  identity  in  principle 
between  the  Erechtheum,  let  us  say,  and  the 
Saint  Chapelle,  than  between  the  former  and 
the  most  correctly  classic  building  in  all  Paris. 
The  Romans  worked  organically  in  the  planning 
and  construction  of  their  vast  and  complicated 
basilicas,  theaters,  and  baths;  but  they  knew 
not  where  to  stay  their  hand,  and,  seduced  by  a 
beauty  which  they  did  not  comprehend,  they 
meaninglessly  applied  the  orders  to  their  arch 
and  vault  construction — that  is,  they  employed 
organic  forms  as  mere  ornament,  after  the  vir- 
tue had  flowed  out  of  them  by  reason  of  a change 
of  structural  methods. 

Turning  the  searchlight  of  our  formula  in  dif- 
ferent directions  up  and  down  the  ages,  we 
discern  that  the  Church  of  Santa  Sophia  in 

[J33] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


Constantinople  is  organic,  for  the  reason  that 
it  consists  of  a single  consistent  system  of  con- 
struction—that  of  the  round  arch  and  spherical 
vault — carried  to  its  logical  development,  no- 
where hidden,  everywhere  expressed.  The 
Houses  of  Parliament  in  London,  on  the  other 
hand,  with  a whole  bagful  of  Gothic  tricks,  are 
nevertheless  arranged  architecture.  They  are 
this  for  the  reason  that  the  elaborately  com- 
posed river  facade  gives  no  hint  of  what  lies 
behind  it,  and  the  towers  might  have  been  in 
one  place  as  well  as  another,  or  not  at  all,  so 
far  as  any  necessity  is  concerned.  In  other 
words,  the  element  of  inevitability  is  lacking, 
that  sure  index  of  the  organic  spirit.  Called 
upon  to  create  a Gothic  design,  Sir  William 
Barry,  the  architect,  could  change  the  clothing 
of  his  idea,  but  not  the  complexion  of  his 
mind. 

It  is  held  by  those  who  have  intimate  knowl- 
edge of  the  curious  architecture  of  Japan  that 
the  Japanese  built  organically  in  the  carrying 
of  wood  architecture  to  the  highest  logical  de- 
velopment that  the  world  has  ever  seen. 
That  Mr.  Cram  should  himself  be  the  author 
of  a delightful  and  scholarly  treatise  on  Jap- 
anese architecture  is  an  eloquent  fact  in  this 
connection. 


[134] 


SANTA  SOPHIA,  CONSTANTINOPLE 


V 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 


Coming  again  to  the  consideration  of  modern 
architecture  here  in  America — barring  a few 
thrice-blessed  exceptions — it  is  certainly  not 
organic,  and  to  call  it  arranged  would  place  it  in 
the  same  category  with  the  masterpieces  of  the 
Renaissance,  which  would  be  to  pay  it  a higher 
tribute  than  it  deserves. 

Let  us  consider  the  main  features  of  this  archi- 
tecture, if  on  the  face  of  chaos  features  can  be 
discerned.  To  consider  modern  architecture 
from  the  standpoint  of  structure  presents  no 
difficulty.  Every  important  building  of  today 
adheres  to  substantially  one  method  of  construc- 
tion. Even  a layman  knows  its  characteristic 
features:  a steel  framework,  floors  and  roof  of 
hollow  tile  or  reinforced  concrete,  an  outer  cover- 
ing of  brick,  stone,  or  terra-cotta,  as  the  case 
may  be.  But  when  we  come  to  consider  the 
language  in  which  the  story  is  told  to  the  be- 
holder, there  is  the  greatest  confusion  of  tongues. 
Venetian  palaces  elbow  French  chateaux  and 
Roman  temples;  pseudo-Gothic  competes  with 
neo-Greek,  each  masquerading  as  something 
other  than  it  is — a Brobdingnagian  saturnalia 
of  vociferous  unreason. 

The  cause  of  this  discrepancy  between  the 
inner  structure  and  its  outward  manifestation  is 
not  far  to  seek.  The  construction  has  been 

[135] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


shaped  by  the  living  hand  of  necessity,  and  is 
therefore  rational  and  logical;  the  outward 
expression  is  the  result  of  the  architect's  “dig- 
ging in  the  boneyard.”  There  has  been  laid 
upon  it  the  dead  hand  of  the  past.  Free  of  this 
incubus,  the  engineer  has  succeeded;  subject  to 
it,  the  architect  has  failed.  That  is,  he  has  not 
seen  that  the  new  construction  imperatively 
demanded  a new  space-language  for  its  expres- 
sion. By  limiting  himself  to  the  great  styles 
of  the  past  and  the  forms  developed  by  super- 
seded methods  of  construction,  he  has  shown 
himself  impotent  to  create  for  this  great  age 
an  architecture  eloquent  of  it.  This  is  the 
manner  and  measure  of  his  failure,  and  it  is 
grave. 

Now  it  is  true  that  architectural  styles  are 
not  created  merely  by  taking  thought  of  the 
matter,  but  grow  imperceptibly,  new  conditions 
modifying  old  traditions.  Conservatism  in  archi- 
tecture is  therefore  a good  and  necessary  thing, 
but  in  times  like  the  present  conservatism  ceases 
to  be  a virtue.  The  architect  who  clings  blindly 
to  precedent  in  dealing  with  the  unprecedented, 
as  he  is  now  constantly  forced  to  do,  is  in  the 
position  of  the  boy  who  stood  on  the  burning 
deck.  This  habitual  attitude  of  looking  back- 
ward at  the  past  over  the  shoulder  of  the  present, 

[136] 


HOUSES  OF  PARLIAMENT,  LONDON 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 


instead  of  fronting  the  future,  has  resulted  for 
the  architect  in  the  atrophy  of  his  creative 
faculty. 

Of  course,  no  architect  can  afford  to  dispense 
with  a knowledge  of  his  art  as  practiced  through- 
out the  world  and  down  the  ages.  It  is  even  well 
that  he  should  train  himself  to  think  and  work 
in  terms  of  this  style  and  of  that,  if  only  to  learn 
that  a style  takes  its  form  and  characteristics 
from  the  materials  and  methods  of  construction 
employed,  and  its  ornament  from  the  racial  and 
national  psychology.  From  the  history  of  archi- 
tecture nothing  is  clearer  than  that  a change  of 
construction,  or  a change  of  consciousness,  de- 
mands and  finds  fresh  architectural  forms  for 
its  expression.  We  of  today  use  a kind  of  con- 
struction unknown  to  the  ancients,  and  our  psy- 
chology is  different;  yet  we  look  about  us  in 
vain  for  a space-language  which  expresses  both 
in  terms  of  beauty.  I use  the  term  “space- 
language”  because  the  time-language  of  today 
already  exists  or  is  in  process  of  formation  in 
the  modern  drama,  the  modern  novel,  and  mod- 
ern music — new  art  forms  made  to  meet  new 
needs  of  expression.  The  need  is  not  less 
urgent  for  a new  architectural  language.  It  is 
bound  to  come  in  time.  The  question  natu- 
rally arises:  To  which  of  the  two  hemispheres 

[137] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


before  mentioned  will  it  belong;  will  it  be 
organic  or  will  it  be  arranged  ? 

The  answer  to  this  question  is  probably  in- 
volved in  the  answer  to  a more  grave  and  vital 
question,  one  which  the  clouded  and  ambiguous 
aspect  of  the  times  cannot  fail  to  suggest  to  every 
thoughtful  mind.  Putting  aside  all  purely  local 
and  temporal  issues,  the  great  issue  of  the  im- 
mediate future  is  between  the  forces  of  material- 
ism, on  the  one  hand,  which  work  against  the 
practical  realization  of  human  brotherhood,  and 
those  obscure  spiritual  forces  which  are  working 
for  it.  If  materialism  triumphs — and  materialism 
is  as  strongly  intrenched  in  the  hovel  as  in  the 
mansion,  in  the  church  as  in  the  market-place — 
architecture,  however  highly  developed  and  per- 
fected, will  be  the  work  of  slaves  for  masters — 
arranged  by  master-minds.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  spirit  of  democracy  and  of  true  brotherhood 
triumphs,  architecture  will  become  again  organic , 
the  ponderable  expression  of  the  truths  of  the 
spirit,  wrought  out  in  all  humility  and  loving- 
ness by  those  who  are  its  subjects  but  not  its 
slaves. 

We  are  warranted  in  this  conclusion  by  the 
history  of  art  itself.  Every  organic  architectural 
evolution  followed  in  the  wake  of  a religious  im- 
pulse, and  the  ideal  of  brotherhood  is  the  impulse 

[138] 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 


which  today  moves  men  to  those  fervors  and 
renunciations  which  have  marked  the  religious 
manifestations  of  times  past.  If  today  we  use, 
only  to  misuse,  the  architectural  languages  of 
the  past,  it  is  because  materialism  holds  us  and 
rules  us;  if  tomorrow  we  are  able  to  express 
ourselves  in  a language  of  new  beauty,  it  will  be 
the  result  of  some  fresh  outpouring  of  spiritual 
force,  such  as  occurred  long  ago  in  Egypt,  later 
in  Greece,  in  China  following  the  introduction 
of  Buddhism,  and  in  Northern  Europe  during 
the  two  mystic  centuries  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
Signs  are  not  lacking  that  this  change  will  come 
upon  us  too.  The  dense  materiality  of  modern 
life  is  not  necessarily  an  adverse  factor;  for  of 
all  paradoxes  this  is  the  most  sublime,  that  good 
comes  from  evil,  purity  from  corruption.  The 
favorite  food  of  epicures  springs  from  the 
dunghill;  the  unspeakable  saturnalia  of  Imperial 
Rome  had  issue  in  Christian  saints  and  martyrs. 
Already  may  be  noted  presages  of  change.  In 
the  familiar  warmed  and  lighted  chamber  of  our 
everyday  environment  we  sit  snugly  content, 
playing  at  what  we  call  the  game  of  life,  when 
suddenly,  just  when  we  fancied  we  were  safest, 
we  are  rapt  out  of  ourselves  into  the  infinite 
beatitude,  as  a fevered  gambler  might  be 
summoned  from  his  table  by  some  beautiful, 

[139] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


veiled  woman,  who  leads  him  out  into  the  cool, 
illimitable  night. 

After  such  an  experience,  life  can  never  be 
the  same.  You  who  have  dreamed  are  forced  to 
follow  your  dream — to  realize  it  if  you  are  an 
artist.  From  that  day  you  are  bound  by  an 
obligation  which  others  do  not  and  need  not 
share.  You  can  no  longer  dissipate  your  time 
and  such  talents  as  you  possess  in  assimilating 
the  popular  taste  in  order  to  reproduce  it.  This 
would  be  a prostitution  far  more  ignoble  than 
that  of  the  man  who  has  never  been  thus  elected 
to  the  service  of  beauty.  To  him,  the  fleshpots  of 
the  world,  the  price  of  a virtue  which  was  never  his ; 
to  you,  the  eternal  quest,  wherever  it  may  lead. 

Do  not  conceive  of  beauty  in  any  narrow  way, 
as  limited  to  mere  aesthetics.  Seek  out  the 
things  that  thrill  you  and  be  sure  that  there  is 
beauty  in  them,  for  the  test  of  beauty  is  the 
measure  of  the  joy  it  brings.  Beauty  is  mystery 
and  enchantment,  the  thing  with  star-dust  on  it. 
Learn  to  recognize  the  brush  of  its  invisible  wing, 
not  alone  in  art  galleries  and  concert  halls,  but 
in  a face  in  a crowd,  a song  at  twilight,  moonrise, 
sunset;  in  the  din  and  glare  of  cities  as  well  as 
in  the  silence  of  great  spaces;  in  the  train  taking 
its  flight  to  the  seaboard  as  well  as  in  the  crow 
taking  its  flight  to  the  rooky  wood. 

[140] 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 


Knowing  not  when  nor  in  what  questionable 
shape  beauty  may  reveal  itself,  it  behooves  you 
to  cultivate  so  wide  a catholicity  of  taste  that 
no  manifestation,  however  strange  and  disturb- 
ing, may  pass  untested  through  the  alembic  of 
your  mind.  You  should  constantly  strive  to 
realize  what  I have  called  the  organic  ideal  in 
the  work  of  your  hands,  not  permitting  your 
personal  power  of  invention  to  atrophy  by  con- 
tinual copying  of  the  work  of  others,  no  matter 
how  beautiful  nor  how  sanctioned  by  time  that 
work  may  be.  Of  everything  you  create  you 
should  ask:  first,  is  it  sincere  and  expressive; 
second,  is  it  beautiful  to  you  ? 

Doubtless  failure  will  crown  your  efforts  more 
often  than  success.  A pioneer  and  a precursor 
in  a movement  which,  when  all  is  said,  may  never 
move,  the  best  that  you  can  hope  for  is  to  labor 
at  the  foundation  of  a Palace  of  Art  which  will 
be  reared,  if  it  is  reared  at  all,  by  other  hands. 
Your  reward  will  be  that  should  the  tide  turn, 
while  you  live  and  work,  from  the  ordered  ideal 
to  the  organic,  some  part  of  the  mighty  current 
will  flow  through  you,  instead  of  tossing  you 
relentlessly  aside. 

Because  the  word  “Gothic”  has  been  taken 
as  the  type  of  the  art  which  is  organic  and 
“Renaissance”  as  a type  of  that  which  is  ar- 

[141] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


ranged,  there  is  still  danger  of  misunderstanding. 
Comprehend  clearly  that  in  speaking  of  organic 
architecture  I do  not  refer  solely  to  the  art  as 
practiced  during  the  Middle  Ages;  in  speaking 
of  Renaissance  architecture  I use  it  only  as 
indicative  of  a habit  of  mind  which  is  timeless. 
If  we  except  the  architecture  of  edifices  of  the 
established  religion  in  which  the  Gothic  style  is 
traditional,  and  therefore  appropriate,  nothing 
could  be  more  absurd  than  the  use  by  us  of  the 
mere  externals  of  the  mediaeval  Gothic  style. 
The  forms  of  classic  and  Renaissance  architec- 
ture are,  of  the  two,  on  the  whole  more  appro- 
priate and  amenable  to  modern  needs  and 
conditions;  and  if  we  are  sticklers  for  precedent, 
they  are  better  justified.  The  architecture  of 
the  future,  whether  arranged  or  organic,  will 
probably  resemble  neither  Gothic  nor  Renais- 
sance. If  it  springs  from  deep  within  the  soul, 
it  will  unfold  new  and  unimagined  beauties.  If 
it  is  a product  of  the  purely  rational  conscious- 
ness, it  will  consist  of  additions  to,  and  modifica- 
tions of,  the  architecture  which  we  already  have. 

Because  spirituality  is  the  source  of  all  beauty, 
arranged  architecture  proceeds  from  and  suc- 
ceeds organic.  When  the  mystic  spirit  which 
produces  organic  architecture  departs,  the  forms 
of  its  creating  survive  by  reason  of  their  beauty, 

[142] 


ORGANIC  ARCHITECTURE 


but  they  are  meaninglessly  employed.  All  of 
the  time-honored  forms  and  arrangements  of  our 
so-called  classic  architecture  were  originally 
organic.  Nothing  could  be  more  organic  than 
the  colonnade  of  a Grecian  temple;  nothing 
could  be  less  so  than  the  same  colonnade  with  an 
iron  stanchion  buried  in  each  column  and  the 
lintel  held  up  by  concealed  steel  beams. 

Now,  while  it  is  necessary  to  draw  these  dis- 
tinctions, and  even  to  insist  upon  them,  there  is 
a higher  synthesis  in  which  they  disappear. 
Every  masterpiece  disdains  and  defies  classifi- 
cation. If  it  succeeds,  we  know  that  whatever 
the  means  and  methods,  they  can  be  only  the 
right  ones  and  are  their  own  sufficient  justifica- 
tion. As  a matter  of  fact,  every  ^architectural 
masterpiece,  whatever  its  style  or  period,  is  both 
organic  and  arranged.  However  artificial  it  may 
be,  it  obeys  some  organic  law  of  the  mind;  how- 
ever naturalistic,  it  is  full  of  self-conscious 
artifice. 

In  art  there  is  a demonic  element  which  places 
it  above  and  beyond  all  man-made  classifications 
and  categories.  The  true  artist  is  guided  by  an 
over-soul,  whether  he  acknowledges  or  whether 
he  denies  its  sway. 

The  passive  master  lent  his  hand 
To  the  vast  soul  that  o’er  him  planned. 

[143] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


It  is  this  larger  aspect  of  the  whole  subject 
which  I propose  to  treat  in  my  next  lecture.  In 
it  I shall  occupy  myself,  not  with  differences, 
but  with  identities.  I shall  attempt  to  discover 
the  unchanging  principles  which  determine  every 
kind  of  formal  beauty,  to  indicate  the  rudiments 
of  the  grammar  of  that  language  through  which 
every  thought  of  the  human  mind  which  writes 
itself  on  space  must  needs  be  expressed. 


i1 44] 


VI 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 

In  my  previous  lecture  I tried  to  make  you 
acutely  conscious  of  the  confusion  of  tongues 
which  attends  the  building  of  our  towers  of  Babel, 
and  I endeavored  to  arouse  you  to  the  need  of 
developing  a form-language  which  should  be  to 
the  modern  world  what  Greek  architecture  was 
to  Pagan  Greece,  Gothic  architecture  to  Chris- 
tian Europe.  As  a preliminary  to  this  high 
endeavor,  let  us  seek  to  discover  some  of  the 
unchanging  principles  which  are  at  the  root  of 
every  kind  of  beauty — in  other  words,  to  formu- 
late the  rhetoric  of  spatial  expression. 

The  first  and  chief  of  these  principles  is  un- 
doubtedly that  of  unity;  for  the  potency  of  any 
work  of  art  is  measured  largely  by  the  singleness 
of  its  appeal.  An  Egyptian  pyramid,  for  example, 
has  unity,  but  this  quality  is  inherent  in  a Greek 
temple  as  well.  In  the  case  of  the  pyramid,  the 
means  whereby  the  effect  of  unity  is  produced 
are  clear:  every  line  leads  to  the  summit;  all 
converge  into  a single  visible  point.  In  the  case 
of  the  Greek  temple,  the  means  remain  a mystery 
to  the  beholder,  but,  as  a matter  of  fact,  in 

[145] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


principle  they  are  the  same.  The  difference  is 
that  in  the  latter  case  the  focal  point  is  not  visible; 
it  is  a point  in  space,  high  aloft  in  the  air.  Most 
of  you  probably  know  that  the  columns  of  the 
Parthenon  all  have  a slight  inclination  inward. 
They  are  not  parallel,  but  convergent;  and  if 
their  axes  were  prolonged  they  would  at  last 
intersect.  I do  not  claim,  of  course,  that  the 
effect  of  unity  is  solely  due  to  this  artifice;  but 
this  artifice  is  a contribution  to  it.  As  a symbol, 
it  is  magnificent.  All  manifoldness  proceeds 
from  and  returns  to  the  invisible  where  it  is  one. 

This  matter  of  invisible  focal  points  is  highly 
important.  Did  you  ever  think  that  somewhere 
in  the  air  under  the  great  open  eye  of  the  roof 
of  the  Roman  Pantheon  is  a point  which  deter- 
mined every  arc  of  the  curve  of  the  giant  dome; 
that  somewhere  in  the  ruined  arena  of  the  Colos- 
seum are  the  two  foci  which  determined  the 
sweep  of  its  circumscribing  walls;  that  aloft  in 
the  apse  of  a Gothic  cathedral  is  a point  to  which 
all  its  vaults  converge  and  from  which  they  seem 
to  emanate  ? About  the  center  of  the  central 
arch  of  most  of  the  best  triumphal  arches  is 
described  a greater  circle  which  determines  the 
main  proportions  of  the  rectangular  structure. 
These  and  similar  artifices  aid  in  co-ordinating 
the  edifice  into  one  memorable  impression. 

[146] 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


If  unity  is  the  first  and  controlling  principle 
of  a form-language,  what  is  the  second  ? Before 
we  come  to  that,  let  us  ask  ourselves  what  a 
form-language  is.  It  is  some  aggregation  of 
symbols,  borrowed  from  nature  or  fabricated  by 
art,  in  endless  variety  of  combination,  for  the 
expression  of  some  ideal  thing.  By  means  of 
these  symbols  the  inner  spirit  of  life  is  drawn 
into  a kind  of  diagrammatic  representation  of 
its  nature  and  gets  itself  externalized— made 
flesh,  so  to  speak.  But  behind  the  forms  and 
arrangements  employed,  whether  they  are  nat- 
ural or  artificial,  are  geometrical  forms  and 
arrangements;  for  “Nature  geometrizes,,,  as 
Emerson  says.  A form-language,  therefore,  may 
be  reduced  to  geometry  in  the  same  way  that  a 
spoken  language  may  be  resolved  into  sounds 
and  combinations  of  sounds.  Just  as  sounds 
may  be  classified  as  vowel  and  consonant,  so 
may  forms  be  classified  as  straight  (rectilinear) 
and  curved,  masses  as  light  and  dark,  or  as  void 
and  solid,  producing  the  effect  of  light  and  dark. 
Colors,  similarly,  are  warm  and  cold,  brilliant 
and  neutral,  gay  and  grave. 

This,  then,  is  our  second  principle,  duality — 
the  polarity  of  related  opposites.  Before  apply- 
ing this  principle  to  composition,  let  us  discrim- 
inate between  the  different  kinds  of  composition. 

[147] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


For  our  purposes,  there  are  three  kinds:  line 
composition,  mass  composition — that  is,  notan> 
light  and  dark — and  color  composition.  In  a 
sense  these  correspond  to  line,  plane,  and  solid — 
spaces  of  one,  two,  and  three  dimensions.  Linear 
composition  involves  neither  of  the  other  two; 
notan  composition,  being  concerned  with  light 
and  dark  masses,  cannot  dispense  with  line,  for 
lines  bound  these  masses;  color  composition 
combines  both  line  and  mass.  As  the  method  of 
the  mind  is  to  proceed  from  the  simple  to  the 
complex,  the  Japanese,  those  masters  of  composi- 
tion, in  producing  their  designs  devote  them- 
selves first  to  the  problem  of  line  rhythms,  then 
to  the  disposition  of  their  lights  and  darks,  and 
finally  to  color  harmony,  though  they  keep  all 
three  things  in  mind  simultaneously,  as  is  neces- 
sary for  a successful  issue;  otherwise  these  things 
interfere  with  and  destroy  one  another. 

Since  I have  mentioned  Japanese  art,  let  us 
take  for  our  first  illustration  of  the  law  of  duality, 
or  polarity,  one  of  Hiroshige's  best-known  color 
prints,  “The  Pine  Tree  on  an  Island"  (see  Fig.  i). 
It  is  so  faithful  a rendering  of  the  subject  that  a 
Japanese,  seeing  the  print  in  my  office,  exclaimed, 
“I  have  been  to  that  place,  I have  seen  that 
wonderful  old  tree."  And  yet,  though  so  true 
to  nature,  it  is  a piece  of  self-conscious  art.  The 

[148] 


BAS  RELIEF  OF  ATHENA  AND 
HER  OWL 


Fig.  2 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


line  composition  is  as  simple  and  uncompromising 
as  could  well  be — the  vertical  lines  of  the  straight- 
falling rain,  the  horizontal  lines  of  the  water,  and 
the  island,  in  strong  contrast  to  the  irregular 
curved  outline  of  the  pine  tree.  The  mass  com- 
position is  not  less  simple  and  conforms  to,  and 
accentuates,  the  line  composition — the  light  sky, 
the  darker  water  and  embankment,  the  dark 
foliage.  These  three  in  color  are,  respectively, 
gray,  blue,  and  black.  With  nothing  to  mitigate 
this  cold  color  scheme,  however,  the  law  of 
polarity  would  not  be  honored  by  a due  observ- 
ance, so  the  artist  has  introduced  a note  of  dull 
red  in  the  upper  left-hand  corner — a matter  of 
no  pictorial  significance,  but  necessary  to  the 
color  harmony  of  the  whole. 

My  second  example,  a bas-relief  of  Athena 
with  her  owl — Attic  work  of  about  465  b.c.  (see 
Fig.  2) — exhibits  the  same  artful  juxtaposition 
of  straight  lines  and  curves,  even  more  simply 
disposed  and  contrasted.  There  is  here  the 
same  regard  for  related  masses,  and,  though 
unfortunately  the  color  has  disappeared  (it  was 
once  colored;  for  the  end  of  the  spear  was 
apparently  painted  on),  we  cannot  doubt  that 
the  law  of  color  contrast  received  recognition  too. 

It  was  the  all  but  universal  practice  of  artists 
of  the  great  age  of  the  Renaissance  to  display 

[149] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


their  figures  in  an  architectural  setting,  for  this 
was  the  most  obvious  and  effective  way  of 
achieving  the  contrast  between  geometrical  and 
flowing  forms  to  which  I call  your  attention.  I 
need  not  show  examples,  for  you  yourselves  will 
recall  any  number.  Instead,  I shall  exhibit  a 
photograph  of  a painting  of  later  date,  David’s 
exquisite  portrait  of  Madame  Recamier,  which, 
by  reason  of  the  obviousness  of  its  composition, 
is  related  more  nearly  to  the  examples  you  have 
already  seen  (see  Fig.  3).  Note  how  the  gracious 
curve  of  the  womanly  figure  is  enhanced  by  its 
contrast  with  the  long  horizontal  line  of  the 
couch  and  by  the  vertical  standard  of  the 
candelabrum. 

Transferring  our  attention  now  to  architecture, 
we  find  in  this  familiar  combination  of  arch  and 
engaged  order  the  same  polarity  of  which  I speak 
(see  Fig.  4).  From  these  simple  elements  “has 
been  expanded  the  architectural  art,  as  a great 
and  superb  language  wherewith  man  has  ex- 
pressed, through  the  generations,  the  changing 
drift  of  his  thoughts.”  In  the  Romanesque  portal 
of  Saint  Trophime  at  Arles  you  find  those  ele- 
ments more  beautifully,  because  more  logically, 
arranged  (see  Fig.  5).  Learn  to  give  them  instant 
recognition,  wherever  encountered,  be  it  in  such  a 
grand  combination  as  is  exhibited  by  the  cam- 


PORTRAIT  OF  MADAME  RECAMIER — J.  LOUIS  DAVID 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


panile  of  St.  Mark’s 
against  the  long  hori- 
zontal and  many- 
domed  church  of 
St.  Mark,  or  in  so 
small  a thing  as  a 
simple  egg  and  dart. 

The  source  and  secret 
of  beauty  are  the 
same  in  both  cases — 
contrasting  straight 
and  curved  forms. 

The  third  law  to 
which  I would  direct 
your  attention  is  the 
law  of  trinity.  It  is 
latent,  as  you  already 
doubtless  discern,  in 
polarity — for  everything  is  from  its  very  nature 
twofold;  but  while  the  semicircular  arch  changes 
imperceptibly  from  vertical  to  horizontal,  and 
therefore  may  be  considered  a unit,  vertical  and 
horizontal  lines  cannot  be  thus  reconciled  and 
must  be  recognized  as  independent.  Therefore 
we  have  in  architecture  three  elements:  lines 
vertical,  horizontal,  and  curved. 

Now  there  is  a secret  potency  which  appears 
to  reside  in  the  number  three  itself.  At  least 

[151] 


THE*  LAW  OF  TRINITY. 


A ROMAN  IONIC  ARCADE-  BY 
VIGNOLLr-THE  COLUMN.  THE 
ENTABLATURE  AND  THE  ARCH 
CORRESPOND  TO  LINES  VERT 
ICAL  HORIZONTAL  AND  CURVED 


Fig.  4 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


three  notes  are  necessary  for  full  harmony  in 
music,  the  three  primary  colors  for  complete 
color  harmony,  and  the  trinity  of  vertical,  hori- 
zontal, and  curved  lines  for  architectural  har- 
mony. Three  straight  lines  are  the  least  number 
which  will  inclose  a space.  The  geometrical 
correlative  of  the  number  three  is  naturally  the 
triangle,  and  particularly  the  equilateral  triangle. 
This  figure,  for  which  the  eye  has  an  especial 
fondness,  is  everywhere  present  in  the  arts  of 
design,  sometimes  clearly  displayed,  more  often 
obscurely.  It  performs  the  function  of  uniting 
and  co-ordinating  the  various  parts  of  a design 
in  a manner  analogous  to  that  in  which  the 
accompaniment  carries  along  and  co-ordinates 
an  air.  So  universal  was  the  recognition  of  this 
need  of  the  eye  during  the  great  age  of  Renais- 
sance painting  that  the  pyramidal  composition 
became  one  of  its  conventions.  Introduced  by 
Fra  Bartolomeo,  it  continued  to  be  employed  to 
and  through  the  decadence.  You  all  recall 
plenty  of  examples,  but  to  show  you  just  what  I 
mean  I call  your  attention  to  the  triangular 
synopsis  of  Andrea  del  Sarto's  “Madonna  del 
Sacco"  (see  Fig.  6). 

Architecture,  of  whatever  style  and  period,  is 
rich  in  similar  examples.  Out  of  many  hundreds 
I show  only  one:  the  perfect  little  Erechtheum 


DOORWAY,  CHURCH  OF  SAINT  TROPHIME,  ARLES 
Fig.  s 


MADONNA  DEL  SACCO— ANDREA  DEL  SARTO 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


of  the  Athenian  Acropolis  (see  Fig.  7).  The 
main  proportions  of  French  cathedrals  were 
determined  by  this  sort  of  triangulation,  both  in 
plan  and  in  section,  as  Viollet  le  Due  has  shown 
in  the  first  volume  of  his  Discourses . 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


Thus  it  is  that  every  priest  of  the  religion  of 
Beauty  must  be  a Unitarian,  a Dualist,  and  a 
Trinitarian.  He  is  no  less  a Nature- worshiper, 
and  in  his  communion  with  her  visible  forms  he 
cannot  but  discover  her  infinite  manifoldness. 
This  leads  him  to  the  perception  of  a fourth 
principle  of  aesthetics,  that  of  variety  in  unity, 
of  the  part  imaged  in  the  whole  and  the  whole 
in  the  part.  Nature  is  an  air  with  variations; 
she  abounds  in  repetitions,  echoes,  consonances. 
Surely  I need  not  give  examples  of  this,  and  yet 
to  put  the  matter  clearly  before  you,  note  the 
major  and  minor  repetition  of  the  theme  in  the 
subsidiary  details  of  Titian’s  “Sacred  and  Pro- 
fane Love”;  note  also  the  reversed  and  con- 
trasted triangles  (see  Fig.  8).  In  architecture, 
the  flutes  of  a Greek  Doric  column  are  echoed 
in  the  channeled  triglyphs  above.  The  balus- 
trade of  a Renaissance  colonnade  repeats  the 
colonnade  itself;  the  flanking  domes  of  Brunelles- 
chi’s great  dome  of  the  cathedral  of  Florence 
prepare  the  eye  for  the  mighty  upward  sweep. 

The  fifth  principle  to  which  I would  direct 
your  attention  is  not  less  obvious  and  universal, 
but  it  is  one  for  which  it  is  difficult  to  find  a 
name.  Call  it  rhythmic  diminution.  This  law 
is  in  the  eye  itself;  for  any  series  of  equal  and 
regular  units,  such  as  a row  of  columns  and  their 

[154] 


Fig. 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


intercolumniations,  for  example,  when  viewed  in 
perspective  become  rhythmically  unequal.  They 
diminish  as  they  recede  from  the  eye,  accord- 
ing to  a mathematical  law.  This  law  is  in  the 
ear  itself;  for  any  musical  note  dies  away  into 
harmonics,  each  one  fainter  and  higher  than  the 
last.  Observe  a column  of  smoke  rising  in  still 
air.  It  puts  forth  spirals,  these  spirals  split  up 
into  smaller  spirals,  and  so  on.  A tree  segre- 
gates, in  the  same  way,  into  branches  and  the 
branches  into  twigs.  These  things  will  give  you 
an  idea  of  what  I mean  by  rhythmic  diminution. 
In  architecture  it  is  illustrated  by  the  entasis  of 
a column,  by  the  diminishing  spiral  of  an  Ionic 
volute,  by  the  artifice  of  superimposing  the 
slenderer  and  more  ornate  orders  on  the  simpler 
and  sturdier.  The  most  perfect  and  complete 
expression  is  found  perhaps  in  a Gothic  cathe- 
dral, which  from  a simple  and  massive  substruc- 
ture rears  a veritable  lacework  of  pinnacles 
against  the  sky.  Gothic  architecture  and  Gothic 
tracery  rise  flamelike,  growing  more  intricate 
and  wonderful  as  they  ascend. 

The  sixth  principle  is  that  of  radiation. 
Radiation  is  the  arrangement  of  the  units  of  a 
composition  with  reference  to  focal  points — the 
relation  of  variables  to  some  invariable.  This, 
too,  is  in  the  eye  itself  and  in  the  ear  itself;  for 

[155] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


all  horizontal  lines  in  architecture  appear  to 
converge  at  the  point  of  sight  on  the  horizon, 
and  in  music  the  air  returns  to  the  tonic  note 
of  the  scale.  In  radiation  we  return  by  a long 
detour  to  our  starting-point,  unity.  They  are 
opposite  aspects  of  one  and  the  same  thing. 
You  may  say  that  all  the  lines  of  a pyramid 
lead  from  base  to  apex,  but  it  is  no  less  true  that 
from  the  apex  all  lines  lead  to  the  base. 

To  illustrate  the  universality  of  these  six 
principles  in  art,  and  to  fix  them  more  firmly 
in  your  mind  by  a recapitulation,  I show  you  in 
what  manner  they  are  obeyed  and  illustrated 
in  an  acknowledged  masterpiece  of  painting, 
Leonardo's  “Last  Supper"  (see  Fig.  9).  It  has 
unity:  it  poignantly  portrays  a dramatic  moment 
in  the  life  of  the  Savior  of  mankind.  The  vari- 
ous parts  are  fused  by  the  creative  fire  in  the 
soul  of  the  artist  into  one  memorable  impres- 
sion. Duality  is  achieved  by  the  time-honored 
device  of  placing  the  figures  in  an  architectural 
setting;  the  long  horizontal  of  the  table,  the 
vertical  panels  of  the  walls,  are  what  the  accom- 
paniment is  to  the  air.  Trinity  appears  in  the 
three  openings  of  the  background,  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  twelve  disciples  in  four  groups  of 
three  figures  each,  and  in  the  inclosure  of  the 
central  figure  of  Christ  in  an  equilateral  triangle. 


Fig. 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


By  the  law  of  consonance  this  triangle  is  echoed, 
as  it  were,  in  the  triangular  supports  of  the  table 
and  in  the  triangular  synopses  to  which  the 
groups  of  figures  variously  submit  themselves. 
The  great  drama  is  broken  up  into  a number  of 
individual  dramas,  portrayed  on  the  faces  of  the 
disciples  as  the  Master  utters  the  fateful  words, 
“One  of  you  shall  betray  me.”  Rhythmic  dimi- 
nution is  illustrated  in  the  diminishing  lengths 
and  sizes  of  the  wall  panels  and  the  ceiling 
beams;  and  radiation , by  reason  of  the  fact  that 
the  point  of  sight  of  the  whole  composition,  to 
which  all  the  horizontal  lines  vanish,  is  in  the 
figure  of  Christ. 

I do  not  claim  that  every  masterpiece  illus- 
trates these  laws  in  this  completeness  and  per- 
fection, but  no  masterpiece  was  ever  created 
which  does  not  illustrate  some  of  them.  They 
need  not  have  been  present  in  the  mind  of  the 
artist  who  conceives  the  work,  nor  of  the 
observer  who  contemplates  it,  in  order  to  exer- 
cise their  potent  magic.  You  should  know  about 
them  because  they  constitute  the  mode  and 
method  whereby  the  spirit  of  life  writes  itself  in 
materiality.  I do  not  claim  that  they  constitute 
the  only  mode  and  method.  Other  laws  there 
are,  no  less  fundamental  and  universal.  Books 
have  been  written  upon  the  spiral  line  in  nature 

[157] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


and  art;  numerical  ratios,  corresponding  to 
the  consonant  musical  intervals,  properly  con- 
stitute part  of  the  rhetoric  of  the  language  of 
form;  but  these  things  I can  only  mention,  for 
I must  now  pass  to  the  consideration  of  the 
second  necessary  element  in  a language  of  form — 
ornament. 

A complete  and  adequate  form-language  con- 
sists, first,  in  a system  of  construction  expressing 
itself  in  appropriate  forms,  and  a system  of 
ornament,  though  it  is  true  that  these  two 
things  are  sometimes  so  vitally  related  as  to  be 
scarcely  separable.  The  architectural  forms 
come  of  themselves — they  are  a matter  of 
orderly  evolution — but  this  is  not  so  true  of 
ornament.  Ornament  depends  less  upon  struc- 
tural necessity  than  upon  psychology.  It  is  the 
psychological  mood  objectively  presented  or 
expressed.  This  is  the  reason  why  any  muti- 
lated and  time-worn  fragment  out  of  the  great 
past,  when  art  was  a living  language,  can  be 
assigned  with  certainty  to  its  place  and  its  period. 
The  connoisseur  has  no  difficulty  in  discriminat- 
ing between  Chinese,  Hindu,  Egyptian,  Greek, 
and  Etruscan  ornament,  because  in  each  the 
soul  of  a people  found  adequate  and  appropriate 
utterance.  The  fact  that  today,  when  it  comes 
to  the  question  of  ornament,  we  are  content  to 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


adorn  our  creations  with  the  grave-clothes  of 
whatever  dead  style  suits  our  fancy  is  simply 
one  proof  the  more  that  we  have  no  form- 
language  of  our  own.  While  the  development 
of  architecture  along  new  lines  may  safely  be  left 
to  necessity  and  time  and  is  already  just  beyond 
the  horizon,  the  same  is  not  true  of  ornament. 
We  have  done  nothing  in  this  field  of  any  value 
whatever.  We  have  not  even  tried  to  do  any- 
thing, but  have  been  perfectly  content  to  beg 
the  whole  question.  It  is  clear  that  we  can  do 
so  no  longer;  but  in  what  direction  shall  we  seek  ? 

Three  alternatives  suggest  themselves:  first, 
a new  ornamental  mode  might  be  the  creation 
of  some  wonderfully  gifted  individual;  second, 
it  could  be  derived  from  nature;  third,  it 
might  be  developed  from  geometry.  Let  us 
consider  each  of  these  alternatives.  The  first 
we  must  summarily  reject.  Even  supposing  the 
advent  of  a personal  savior  in  this  field,  the  im- 
position of  the  idiosyncratic  space  rhythm  of  a 
single  individual  upon  an  entire  architecture 
would  be  unfortunate.  Genius  does  not  propa- 
gate itself;  it  descends  neither  from  father  to 
son  nor  from  teacher  to  disciple.  In  Mr.  Sullivan, 
for  example,  we  have  an  ornamentalist  of  the 
highest  originality  and  distinction,  quite  aside 
from  his  sterling  qualities  as  an  architect;  but 

[159] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


his  secret  is  incommunicable,  his  disciples  either 
imitate  his  mannerisms  or  they  develop  a man- 
ner and  a method  of  their  own.  This  leaves 
us  with  our  problem  unsolved.  We  do  not  want 
an  ornament  which  is  individual,  but  one  which 
is  universal;  not  one  which  has  style,  but  one 
which  is  a style. 

Consider  now  the  second  suggestion:  shall  we 
be  able  to  find  what  we  seek  by  conventionalizing 
natural  forms  ? There  is  precedent  for  such  a 
procedure.  The  Egyptian  lotus,  the  Greek 
honeysuckle,  the  Indian  palmette,  the  acanthus, 
achieved  their  apotheoses  in  art.  Even  today 
in  Japan,  where  art  is  still  a living  language,  the 
bamboo,  the  chrysanthemum,  the  wistaria,  are 
successfully  used  as  motifs  for  ornament.  I 
think  it  would  be  a very  good  thing  if  the  prob- 
lem of  the  conventionalization  of  our  native 
fruits  and  flowers  were  given  to  art  students 
instead  of  the  botanizing  of  old  dry  specimens. 
This  has  been  done  and  is  being  done  to  some 
extent,  but  as  a solution  of  the  problem  of  orna- 
ment, it  offers  one  difficulty  which  should  not 
be  overlooked.  Today  the  native  flora  of  a 
country  loses  much  of  its  distinctive  quality  by 
reason  of  scientific  agriculture  and  intensive  cul- 
tivation under  glass,  coupled  with  ease  and 
rapidity  in  the  matter  of  transportation.  Corn, 

[160] 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


buckwheat,  tobacco,  though  indigenous  to  Amer- 
ica, are  less  distinctively  so  than  they  once  were. 
Moreover,  our  divorce  from  nature  is  more  com- 
plete— so  much  so  that  dwellers  in  the  city,  where 
the  giant  flora  of  architecture  for  the  most  part 
raise  their  skyscraping  heads,  are  more  familiar 
with  corn  in  the  can  than  corn  on  the  cob;  they 
know  buckwheat  only  in  the  form  of  buckwheat 
cakes;  and  not  one  smoker  in  ten  would  recog- 
nize tobacco  as  it  grows  in  the  fields.  This 
vitiates,  though  it  does  not  veto,  recourse  to 
natural  forms  for  ornament. 

The  third  alternative  remains  to  be  considered, 
and,  to  my  thinking,  it  is  that  in  which  resides 
the  richest  promise.  Let  us  consider  it  with  care. 
Geometry  has  furnished,  not  one  system  of  orna- 
ment, but  many.  A great  deal  of  Chinese  and 
Hindu  ornament  is  rigidly  geometrical;  Moorish 
ornament  is  almost  exclusively  so.  Gothic  tra- 
cery is  nothing  but  combinations  of  straight 
lines,  circles,  and  the  arcs  of  circles.  The  inter- 
esting development  of  decorative  art  which  has 
taken  place  in  Germany  of  late  years  makes  use 
of  little  else  but  the  square  and  the  circle,  the 
parallelogram  and  the  ellipse.  These  systems, 
all  derived  from  geometry,  are  widely  different 
from  one  another.  What  has  been  done  can 
be  done;  geometry  may  provide  us  with 

[161] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


the  very  thing  we 
seek.  The  problem 
is  simply  one  of 
selection  and  de- 
velopment. How 
shall  we  set  about 
our  task  ? For  we 
are  in  the  position 
of  Sinbad  in  the 
valley  of  diamonds; 
we  are  surrounded 
by  treasure  of  which 
we  do  not  know 
how  to  possess  our- 
selves. 

Ornament  must 
not  only  satisfy 
the  aesthetic  sense, 
but  it  must  be  symbolically  significant.  This 
can  be  accomplished  if  in  some  way  ornament 
can  be  made  to  indicate  the  trend  of  con- 
sciousness— if  some  relation  can  be  established 
between  ornament  and  psychology.  This  may 
seem  at  first  thought  an  impossible  proposition, 
but  perhaps  it  is  not  so  impossible  as  it  appears. 
Do  not  think  that  I am  only  juggling  with  words 
when  I suggest  that  the  problem  may  be  solved 
by  recourse  to  the  fourth  dimension  of  space. 

[162] 


A BAY  WINDOW 
Fig.  ii 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


This  is  a phrase  of  varied  and  ambiguous  mean- 
ings, often  heard,  yet  little  understood — under- 
stood least,  perhaps,  by  those  who  use  it  most. 
To  the  mathematician  it  means  a direction  at 
right  angles  to  every  one  of  the  so-called  three 
dimensions  of  space.  By  the  man  on  the  street 
it  is  used  to  describe  anything  which  is  arcane 
and  mysterious. 

But  behind  this  loose  use  of  a loose  phrase  lies 
a true  intuition:  the  intuition,  namely,  that  the 
modern  mind,  so  lately  exclusively  scientific, 
enamored  of  mere  facts,  has  taken  a turn  in  a 
new  direction  at  right  angles  to  every  direction 
known  heretofore.  The  past  few  years  have  wit- 
nessed the  rebirth  of  wonder.  Science,  scornful 
of  the  occult,  has  now  an  occult  of  its  own  to 
deal  with.  Philosophy,  hopeless  of  translating 
life  through  the  reason  in  terms  of  inertia,  per- 
ceived a universal  flux,  the  meaning  of  which  the 
intuition  alone  can  grasp;  and  religion,  aban- 
doning its  narrow  orthodoxies  and  man-made 
moralities  of  a superior  prudence,  seeks  the 
mystical  experience  above  and  before  all.  To 
each  the  best  thing  in  the  world  has  come  to 
seem  something  out  of  it.  Our  House  of  Life, 
where  we  had  thought  to  dwell  always  more 
snug  and  content,  is  haunted  by  footfalls  from 
another  world.  Now  the  fourth  dimension  of 

[163] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 

the  mathematician 
is  a perfect  symbol 
of  this  land  which 
is  “back  of  the 
north  wind  and 
behind  the  looking 
glass.”  The  sub- 
lime idea  that  the 
personal  self  of  each 
one  of  us  is  but  the 
transitory  mani- 
festation on  the 
plane  of  materiality 
of  an  immortal 
individual  whose 
habitat  is  on 
planes  of  being,  has 
its  analogue  in  the  mathematical  conception  that 
all  three-dimensional  figures  are  projections  on 
three-dimensional  space  of  four-dimensional 
forms.  That  is,  the 
sphere  is  the  pro- 
jection of  the  hyper- 
sphere, the  cube  of 
the  hyper-cube,  and 
so  on,  in  the  same 
way  that  the  circle 
may  be  considered 


PATTERN  DERIVED  FROM  THE 
600-HEDROID 

Fig.  12 


[164] 


Fig.  13 


AN  ORGAN  CASE 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


as  the  plane  projection  of  the  sphere,  the 
square  of  the  cube.  The  elements  of  four- 
dimensional figures  are  known  to  mathematics. 
Their  projection  in  spaces  of  lower  dimen- 
sions is  a matter  of  no  great  difficulty.  What 
I propose,  therefore,  is  to  derive  from  these 
projections  material  for  ornament,  and  in  so 
doing  to  symbolize  the  dominant  fact  of  the 
modern  world,  that  we  are  attempting  to  explore 
that  reality  from  which  we  are  shut  off  by  the 
limitations  of  our  sensuous  mechanism. 

Four-dimensional  geometry  is  as  real  a thing 
and  richer  far  than  three-dimensional  geometry, 
bearing  the  same  relation  to  the  latter  as  that 
does  to  plane  geometry.  It  is  indeed  so  rich  a 
field  that  only  a few  of  the  most  elementary 
figures  and  configurations  are  sufficient  to  fur- 
nish the  ornamentalist  with  all  the  material 
he  needs. 

To  explain  these  figures  in  detail  and  the 
method  of  their  representation  would  be  impos- 
sible within  the  limits  of  this  lecture.  To  make 
them  fully  intelligible  would  require  more  time 
than  is  at  my  disposal  and  the  assistance  of 
numerous  models  and  diagrams.  I can  show 
you  only  a few  of  the  achieved  results  (see  Figs. 
10-16).  This  failure  to  gratify  your  curiosity  as 
regards  method  is  unimportant;  for  with  patience 

[165] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


and  intelligence  you  can  develop  a method  of 
your  own,  in  case  the  examples  I show  you  have 
the  good  fortune  to  please  your  aesthetic  sense. 
That  is  the  final  test,  and  if  you  fail  to  find  here 
the  needed  element  of  beauty  my  labor  has  been 
in  vain,  my  logic  false,  and  my  philosophy  futile. 
If,  however,  you  find  here  hints  and  intimations 
of  a beauty  which  does  not  submit  itself  to  clas- 
sification in  any  of  the  familiar  categories  to 
which  labels  have  already  been  attached,  I com- 
mend the  whole  matter  to  your  attention  as  a 
possible  contribution  to  the  form-language  of  the 
future.  It  possesses  the  following  advantages: 
first,  the  one  already  dwelt  upon — the  relation 
of  the  ornamental  mode  to  the  psychological 
mood;  second,  the  richness  of  the  field,  of 


Fig.  15 

[166] 


THE  WATER  GATE 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


which  you  may  gain  some  idea  by  comparing 
solid  geometry  with  plane  geometry,  four- 
dimensional geometry  being  related  to  solid 
geometry  in  a manner  analogous  to  this;  third, 
the  opportunities  offered  for  originality  and  the 
expression  of  individuality 
within  wise  and  reasonable 
limits.  The  principle  once 
assimilated,  every  designer 
would  inevitably  apply  it 
in  an  individual  manner, 
and  yet  just  by  reason  of 
its  being  founded  upon  a 
principle  and  not  a whim, 
there  would  result  that 
family  resemblance  which 
we  always  discern  in  the 
work  of  individuals  work- 
ing within  the  limits  of 
what  we  name  a style; 
fourth,  the  principles  and 
method  are  communicable, 
teachable,  and  though  without  the  aid  of  a 
highly  developed  aesthetic  sense  no  fine  result 
is  possible,  it  gives  to  that  sense  the  material 
and  a method. 

There  is  another  source  of  ornament  which  I 
may  mention,  of  not  less  symbolical  value,  for 


GROUP: 

TETRAHEDRONS  AND 
DERIVED  ORNAMENT 

Fig.  17 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


it  has  occult  associations.  I refer  to  magic  lines 
in  magic  squares.  You  all  know  what  a magic 
square  is:  it  is  a sort  of  numerical  acrostic,  an 
arrangement  in  square  form  of  numbers  which 
yield  the  same  magic  sum  when  added  in  vertical 
and  horizontal  columns  and  along  the  diagonals. 
Magic  squares  are  of  very  ancient  origin.  There 
is  one  carved  in  stone  on  an  old  temple  gate  in 
India.  Albrecht  Diirer 
introduced  one  into  his 
engraving  of  “ Melan- 
cholia,” and  they  are 
known  to  have  occupied 
the  minds  of  medi- 
aeval philosophers  and 
mystics.  Today  one 
finds  them  in  the  puzzle  departments  of  the  maga- 
zines, and  the  principle  of  their  formation  has 
engaged  the  attention  of  the  followers  of  pure 

[168] 


KNOT?  BOM  MA4IC 1JNKS 


KNOT  FROM  A 
MAOIC  UNK  CF 
thess  AND  CF 
TOUJD 


Fig.  19 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


mathematics.  Now  every  magic  square  contains 
a magic  line,  found  by  following  the  numbers  in 
their  natural  order  from  square  to  square.  These 
magic  lines  are  often  very  interesting  and  even 
beautiful,  exhibiting  an  intricate  and  unusual  type 


BOOK  COVER  DESIGN  BASED  ON  THE 
KNIGHT’S  TOUR  OR  MAGIC 
SQUARE  OF  EIGHT 

Fig.  20 

of  symmetry.  Translated  into  curves  and  inter- 
laced, they  are  so  strongly  reminiscent  of  Celtic 
interlaces  that  it  suggests  the  possibility  that 
Celtic  ornament  may  have  been  developed  accord- 
ing to  this  method.  Another  curious  fact  in  this 

[169] 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


connection  is  that  Diirer,  who,  as  we  know,  was 
interested  in  magic  squares,  devoted  some  of  his 
inexhaustible  industry  to  the  designing  of  inter- 
lacing knots. 

The  decorative  value  of  many  magic  lines  is 
beyond  question.  To  prove  this,  I need  show 
you  only  one  or  two:  the  first  and  simplest,  that 
derived  from  the  magic  square  of  three;  the 
second,  a magic  square  of  four  (see  Fig.  19),  and 
a decorative  treatment  of  the  line  traced  by  the 
knight  in  making  what  is  known  as  the  knight's 
tour  on  the  chessboard  (see  Fig.  20).  This  is  a 
familiar  feat  of  chess-players.  It  consists  in 
starting  at  any  square,  and  by  the  knight's 
move  (two  squares  forward  and  one  to  right 
or  left)  touching  at  each  square  once  and  return- 
ing to  the  starting-point.  This  path  or  track 
is  really  a magic  line  of  a magic  square,  and 
the  trick  is  done  by  remembering  sixty-four 
numbers  in  a certain  order.  Kellar,  the 
magician,  used  to  introduce  this  trick  in  his 
performances. 

Now  as  the  number  of  magic  squares  is  prac- 
tically limitless,  and  as  each  of  them  yields  a 
magic  line,  you  can  readily  see  that  there  is 
much  matter  for  the  designer  of  ornament,  even 
though  all  magic  lines  do  not  lend  themselves 
to  his  particular  purpose. 

[i7°] 


THE  LANGUAGE  OF  FORM 


Besides  appropriate  and  beautiful  structural 
forms,  appropriate  and  beautiful  ornament,  a 
form-language  should  possess  a third  element, 
that  of  color.  The  great  ages  of  great  art  reveled 
in  color,  and  each  developed  it  in  a distinctive 
way.  A Roman  bath,  a Greek  temple,  the  in- 
terior of  a Gothic  cathedral,  were  gorgeous  with 
color.  Today,  in  our  architecture,  we  beg  the 
whole  question  of  color.  It  is  a confession  of 
our  incompetence — we  are  afraid.  Into  this 
question  of  color  I cannot  go  in  a constructive 
way.  To  do  so,  even  if  I could,  does  not  fall 
within  the  limits — already  overpassed — which  I 
have  assigned  to  this  lecture.  I simply  note  the 
necessity  and  leave  it  there. 

These  matters  to  which  I have  called  your 
attention  are  after  all  only  bright  pebbles  picked 
up  almost  at  random  on  the  shoreless  ocean  of 
beauty,  whose  tides  forever  flow  beneath  the 
very  casements  of  our  House  of  Life.  Our 
aesthetic  poverty  is  of  our  own  making;  we  can 
end  it  at  any  moment  by  utilizing  the  beauty 
everywhere  at  hand.  There  is  nothing  more 
absurd  than  to  suppose  that  our  age  is  bankrupt 
of  beauty.  It  is  pre-eminently  an  age  of  power, 
and  power  at  the  ordained  season  translates 
itself  to  beauty  in  men's  souls  and  thence  flows 
into  visible  and  ponderable  forms.  “ There  is  a 


LECTURES  ON  ARCHITECTURE 


fount  about  to  stream.”  Out  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, chastened  by  suffering  and  sacrifice,  awed 
into  reverence  by  supernal  revelations,  stirred 
into  hope  by  an  immanent  divine,  man  will 
weave  new  patterns  on  the  loom  of  space  just 
as  he  did  anciently  in  China,  in  Assyria,  in 
Egypt,  and  in  Greece. 

This  is  the  artist's  work,  and  let  every  artist 
in  this  audience  rededicate  himself  to  the  task. 
As  was  said  by  Emerson,  our  great  high  priest, 
of  that  beauty  which  endures,  “Fear  not  the 
new  generalization." 


0 


[172] 


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